


Red Memories

by cliffracerx, Fa-Nuit-Hen (cliffracerx)



Series: Of Moon-and-Star [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Azura - Freeform, Betrayal, Chimer, Daedra, Denial, Disturbing dreams, Dreams, Dunmer - Freeform, Emotional, Hurt/Comfort, I TOLD MYSELF WRONG LMAO, I told myself I wasn't going to get deep this time, Lust, M/M, Mild Smut, Moonshadow - Freeform, Morrowind, MxM - Freeform, NSFW, Nightmares, Spooky, Visions, and no i dont think its an act of hubris to say this, dagoth ur - Freeform, deep, disturbingdreams, nerevar - Freeform, nerevarine - Freeform, nonlinear, not your typical nerevarine fic, red mountain, reinterpretation, sleepers awake, some sexual content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-06-18 17:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 22,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15490842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cliffracerx/pseuds/cliffracerx, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cliffracerx/pseuds/Fa-Nuit-Hen
Summary: A sundry and disorderly collection of dreams, nightmares, and flashbacks had by the Nerevar(ine). probably not going to be finished.**This is BEST read alongside my other fic, Of Moon-and-Star!(Thank you so much for reading this and checking it out *u* it means a lot to me!!)





	1. Down a Corridor, Darkly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Background music for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-EJgAP6H40

_After slipping into a peaceless sleep, Neht's dreams were dominated once more by a tall, ghostly figure with a strange golden mask. An outstretched arm, ensconced in throes of a warm welcome, which, like the strange ringing hymn issued by the bells on Gorne, Neht found morbidly compelling. His feet moved toward the figure instinctively, before he could think; before he could deign to object._

_Spindly, clawed fingers that appeared to permanently be tipped with cruor interwove with Neht's own as he was lead through great halls of countless noble dead interred. The walkways were narrow and dimly lit, lined with the gaunt, twisted faces of the risen unliving, and somber yet elegant decor alluded to some kind of grand celebration. Lunar banners emblazoned with sigils that Neht did not care to recognize at present billowed in the unseen supposition of a breeze._

_Because he could not endure this while knowing that it all took place against his will, Neht tells himself that he allows it; he allows the figure to_ _guide through narrow walkways, just as a soon-to-be spouse graces the wedding aisle. Something about the other's later proclamations will cause Neht to feel that his claims of divinity are somehow more of a supposition that a firm, confident statement._

_Each time he looked at this new Nerevar, Dagoth Ur was given pause. The other was in every sense a younger, spitting image of his former self, aside from now being clad in the Dunmer's grey tones. 'So this,' Voryn mused, 'Is the nature of his cursed second skin.' He half-wondered when that ashen complexion would simply rub off, proving itself to be mere paint, concealing the golden tones below._

_A chorus of disembodied voices, each with its own eerie spectral resonance filled the room--yet not a single pair of lips were seen to be moving. Neht's breath froze in his chest and his heart stood still in unison with time. His dusky, masked guide would periodically slow or stop to converse jovially with one of the ghastly figures as if they'd known each other and been the best of friends. Mouthless was their mirth and voiceless their joy. Neht's tongue fluttered, like a host of confounded butterflies uncertain of where to land._ _Breathless, wordless, he fought to protest as his eyes glazed over with abject horror. As they progressed, the ground seemed to breathe and pulse gently beneath their feet, as though it were alive. Something about this place felt...wrong._

_And the masked man continues to urge him on to....somewhere, but Neht's mind soon fades to black; refusing to recognize the Dwemer device at the end of the aisle and its thrumming, glittering contents._

* * *

Beyond this point, Neht can recall nothing--perhaps because he _wishes_ to recall nothing, aside from knowing that the dream continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important thing(s) to note for this chapter:  
> -YES the title is YET ANOTHER FUCKING OBLIVION REFERENCE because I'M GROSS and why not? It's a ref to the "Through A Nightmare, Darkly" quest in Oblivion :']


	2. The Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (part 2, woo! Finally able to post it on here and free it from its .txt file prison!)
> 
> Background music for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZgPe-9e1FEs

_“There are many rooms in the house of the Master,” chimes a soothing, husky voice that momentarily manages to tear Neht away from his confusion. “Be at ease, for from the grasp of your enemies I have delivered you.” How he could he possibly be at ease, seeing what he now saw?_

_Sprawled out on a large table, Neht glimpses what he knows to be himself, adorned in gleaming golden armor with an equally gilt complexion to match and encircled by a collection of ritualistically-placed candles._

_“Me? Dead? When? How??” Neht tries to cry out, but his tenor is made of sand, which falls silently back to the ground from which it was drawn. At first, Neht had been unable to fathom who it was and whether or not they were dead or simply in a deep sleep. Or, perhaps he did know who it was and simply refused to admit it because it is a terrible thing to see oneself dead. A_ _t first, the sight stabbed at the heart. Twinges of guilt heralding a sea of it--how he'd died and left Resdayn in the hands of three young Tribunes._

_A peaceful expression rests upon features that were both alien and all too familiar. In a gesture rife with hesitation wholly uncharacteristic of Moon-and-Star, he reaches out to touch the body, only to find that staunch promises of the figure’s tangibility prove to be as false and transparent as the lie he knows it to be. As his hand simply slips right through, he simply watches, with a momentary lack of surprise._

_At that instant, he felt no fear, no horror, and no reason to mourn. Neht’s contrived sense of self-awareness and all that pent-up denial vanish suddenly as he melds into that figure, becoming one with it. A cornucopia of emotions flood into that contrived form--indignation chief among them._

_He wouldn't have it. It was a lie. He knew well the truth, which took the form of a faceless bonewalker that carried with it a fragment of Trueflame. Only Voryn would put a face to him--but whether this was purely a product of the necessity that came with the Sharmat's deception or a tiny mirror-glimpse of guilt carried by Voryn the mortal, who still existed in some manner, though Dagoth Ur did his utmost to conceal that fact. It was, he decided, a lie--although a beautifully-crafted one. A lie, and provocation._

_Dagoth Ur stands by, sentry and witness to this illusion with which he had ensnared Nerevar unawares. However, his satisfaction with the outcome was decidedly fleeting. Upon approaching Nerevar’s figure, which seemed enmeshed in the perpetuity of that lifeless sleep he stirs, suddenly sitting bolt upright. The mer’s luminous eyes shine with the clarity of Secunda,  argent and undisturbed when it dares to be seen separate from Masser._

_What at first had begun as a series of tiny scintillas of Nerevar’s true self shining through finally amalgamates here. Azura’s orenda was upon him once more. The lost child vanishes, replaced now by the ruling king, who leans abruptly toward the other, full lips quickly curving into a jeering smirk: a challenge, to be sure._

_“No more,” he cries, “I shall be the one to decide the outcome of this!”_

_Everything is obscured by a white light fit enough in its capacity to burn an Empire. Inceptively, Dagoth Ur is alarmed and somewhat perturbed by this sudden display of hidden strength, feeling further dismayed when he feels Nerevar awaken, thus severing their connection for the time being. Nevertheless, this is a good sign! If he'd harbored any doubts that it wasn't him, such doubts had been washed away with that blinding light, in addition to the feeling that the Incarnate was far more agreeable than he let on_.

* * *

Meanwhile, Corprus floods Neht’s veins like venom; like wrath, wrenching him from sleep. With each movement, invisible teeth seemed to sink into his flesh. A series of unpleasant prickling sensations spread across his dusky skin in unison with the discomfort of itchy, weeping sores; chiding the hapless mer out of any chance of rest. The nightmare and the disease were like a strange, sadistic couple hell-bent on ensuring Neht’s continued misery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important thing(s) to note for this chapter:  
> -orenda: an Iroquois term for a spiritual power inherent in people and their environment. Basically, it's the idea that stuff that occurs in nature is caused by orendas moving against each other. It's kind of like fate, I guess, but in a less distant and far-off context? Blame my college studies for invading my work I suppose. I thought it worked well with the ideas of the struggles that accompany the Nerevarine prophecies and Azura.  
> 


	3. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Background music for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-G32YdN2yCg

_Hazily, Neht recalls climbing up a tall, shimmering staircase. The delicate sillage of roses lingered in his nostrils pleasantly, growing in both intensity and sweetness as he progressed up the glittering stairwell. Before he could reach the top of those stairs and witness the Mother of those crimson blossoms, however, a voice suddenly pierces the splendid beauty and its ambient peace._

_All at once, the world seems to be driven away, replaced by feelings of numinous apprehension and fragmented desire at all once._

_“Lord Nerevar Indoril, Hai Resdaynia! Long forgotten, forged anew! Three belied you, three betrayed you! One you betrayed was three times true! Lord Voryn Dagoth, Dagoth Ur, steadfast liegeman, faithful friend, bids you come and climb Red Mountain! Beneath Red Mountain, once again, break your bonds, shed cursed skin, and purge the n'wah from Morrowind!” As he has been lead to water at last and pushed in, Neht felt his heart sink with despair as he was forced to finally accept two inescapable truths--that the Voryn of which he dreamed so desirously was one with this looming, masked megalomaniac of a god--and that he was Nerevar. Despite this, he could not bring himself to hate Voryn._

_When others had told him of the evils beneath Red Mountain, he had expected--no, he had **hoped** , to find Dagoth Ur as some pitiable, wretched creature bereft of reasonable clarity and the same grace and allure which first drawn Nerevar to him. Were that the case, then it would've been far easier to fulfill what they repeatedly swore was his prophesied destiny. Nerevar knew in his heart that it would have been so much easier if it had been anyone but Voryn. _

_Rather than the burden of the office of the Hortator and the mantle of Resdayn and Her ruling king, Nerevar is no longer able to hide behind lack of memories or the lone letter 'N'; now fully aware of the crushing weight of Azura's purpose--and he cursed himself for his affinity to the other's clawed touch or even a simple gaze, which he feared would prove to be his undoing._

_Dagoth-Ur's thin talons caressed Nerevar's face and a few errant tendrils of hair that had fallen over his face. “This is our Provenance,” he whispered warmly. The next words were anticipated, yet remained unspoken: Give in to me. Let it all go. Come to me, and cast down your fear. Perhaps the worst part of it was that Nerevar could no longer pretend that his fate was once more being pulled toward Red Mountain against his will, like a marionette bound to the mercy of strange portents as his strings. No, he **wanted** to go--even if only steal a glance at what his beloved had become._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -dying inside because I'm trying to make this thirst sound as eloquent as I can


	4. Innocent World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Background music for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4KNuo72QuYk

_Against the passage of time and the merciless procession of the truth dancing behind his eyelids at night in unison with scenes in the past that keep replaying themselves, Neht is like a powerless child beating against the bars of an invisible crib, for time carries him with the whim of the sea; not unlike the armies that once were held in his command, marching ever forward, encumbered with the shining bulwark of ambition and obligation._

_In these moments, Neht is fleetingly unafraid to be Nerevar. He is unashamed to remember, though he curses himself silently for being a coward that is unable to handle both the good and the bad as they came, knowing that once he could. He wondered what the flowing years had done to him. At this point in time, he is forced to face the bitter reality of the self-fragmentation that had proved to be an unfortunate byproduct of numerous incarnations. He has been so many people--far too many people--and it has therefore been terribly easy to lose little bits of himself. With each Incarnation, he loses a little bit of himself. It is a sad thing, to know that you are being whittled away at like a chalky seaside cliff._

_Dusky, sinewy arms encircle him, and he can feel himself melting into a soft, comforting embrace like an old crone seeking the solace of his favourite easychair. These were the good dreams; the kind from which Neht was loath to awaken and face what he began to feel was a cold, bleak, strange world full of strange portents and inhabitants. With each of these dreams, he was pulled just a few steps toward the right direction on the path of re-becoming the self that was (and was not) himself._

_When he held Voryn, both of them felt so...comfortable. So...cherished, and filled with a false sense of fortification as though he were protected from all the ills of the world, and that such protection might extend into perpetuity as he fell headlong into Nerevar's eyes, allowing himself to be swallowed by their intoxicating mystery. Knowing that these gifts of love; these cherished moments were given freely and naturally served to galvanize their bond. Behind each loss, there at first lurked no plot or sense of obligation, and more importantly: no ulterior motives. Both were there because they wanted to be, and because the other each wanted the other there. It was a marriage of minds and spirits, sometimes with bodies interwoven. It was genuine in every way--save in legal officiality (as that particular spot, as it happened, was filled by Almalexia.)_

_There had been a time (shortly after their marriage) in which Nerevar had attempted to conquer Ayem and win her over like a prize, as if he were the Prophet Veloth and she the wild, unchecked expanse of Resdayn itself. This pursuit, however, eventually cooled after several years of discouragement and hosts of secret lovers. Perhaps--endowed with the cunning and haughtiness of her regal ancestry as she was--Almalexia did not mean to produce an heir. Nevertheless, Nerevar was patient with her; for he had to be, if ever he was to expect progress._

_It was not that they'd failed to coexist and function. Between the two, there existed a sense of unspoken dependence which neither, in their pride, would openly acknowledge while adhering to it nonetheless. Both sides had to give just a little to see things through. It was, perhaps, that Nerevar's older, more wizened self came to realize that the idea of ''taming'' Ayem like a wild guar had simply proved to be yet another wrong way of approaching the situation. In the midst of this particular recollection, Nerevar always caught himself cackling at his past foolishness._

_With that approach, he would get exactly nowhere in a hurry--and if their squabbles had gotten much worse at the time, it would've had grievously divisive effects upon the houses and ultimately, the whole of the land._ _For all intents and purposes, the had at least found staunch friends and allies in one another, and Nerevar--while indomitable in many respects, did not actively attempt to subdue, command, or micromanage his wife's affairs for the most part. This changed only when Almalexia did something that Nerevar deemed unsafe for persons and country._

_Coexistence and function, though, come with the property that of domestic quarrels--and given the bullheaded, uncompromising nature of both parties, there was quarreling aplenty to be had. Like the pain of an old wound, moments of lust did occasionally flare up between the two, and their impassioned disagreements between were often served as both fuel and the cause for these events. Regardless of how deep they got into it, Nerevar refused to force his hand upon her; rather unlike various invaders and advisers that had made a puppet of her previously, and in an often brutish and unsavory manner--and this, among her husband's many other agreeable qualities, were all that Almalexia had most come to admire._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important thing(s) to note for this chapter:  
> -The idea of referring to lust as sort of an "old wound'' that kinda "pains them occasionally" is something I picked up from a passage in ''Pillars of the Earth" by Ken Follett.  
> -"There had been a time (shortly after their marriage) in which Nerevar had attempted to conquer Ayem and win her over like a prize, as if he were the Prophet Veloth and she the wild, unchecked expanse of Resdayn itself": nerevar is shitposting and regularly spamming ayem with 'hey r u ok' but really she just needs a break


	5. Forbidden Ponds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Background music for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ezIblCCHBJ0

_The Chimer smiles foggily at the surreal space before him. Clear and glittering waters flow against the harsh lines of precipitously-hewn golden shores. A welcoming light spreads across the zenith of the sky. Chiseled clefs contrast with the fluid expanse of water and the graceful, distant slopes of mountains beyond which fade into a vague, soft blur. Directly above the horizon, rich hues of emerald and azure lighten until they fade together into a gleaming white, glittering like treasure heaped upon treasure. One thing seems certain: nothing he can say or think of to describe the place would ever do it justice. There does not exist anything in all the tongues of men, of mer, of dov or anything else that could capture it with even the smallest grain of accuracy. It is something that has to be seen and experienced for oneself--but thankfully, Neht hasn't any friends; nobody with which to discuss the strange, repetitive odyssey of reincarnation, or of Moonshadow and its mistress, to which the latter become inextricably linked. Even if he did, they'd sooner report him to the temple for being soulsick--which would, as Caius had said, make them lock him.  
_

_The immense coloration was a stark breath of life upon a surreal and alien landscape._ _Even with a rather listless expression, the mer observing it still radiates a certain dynamism. His head is gently inclined; humbled, as a penitent subjecting himself to the wilderness and its cruel whims._

_Now, as though bathed in the Ashes of Red Mountain, which lies worlds away, he lies upon a scarlet pillow of blossoms and turf lined with thin threads of dew, apparently weeping for the lost golden sea that was himself._ _The tears soon pass. Bereft of himself, Neht forgets that he has forgotten as the transitory beauty of dawn and dusk eternally, replacing day and night. Neht takes this into himself, admiring each dewdrop's forms most delicate. For now, this world is all that is the case._

_When Azura took him away, he recalled the great voice that filled him. He knows that voice, and it is stronger here, speaking with more clarity than ever it had in Tamriel, where last he'd heard it.  
It is the perfect curve within every shadow, and it is the faintest glimmer of each of these forms most breathtaking. It is the breeze, the rain, and the clouds above. Here, it is the will of the one whose realm seems to be grounded beneath his feet. It is she that makes it so, and it has been this way since before he or his not-self came to be._

_"Poor mortals," she murmurs. While Neht thought he'd detected a hint of sympathy, the feelings of an Et'Ada are both present and absent, and cannot truly be known or guessed at by mortals. "This is the way to which your kind is accustomed. But it is for you no longer." Nerevar doesn't know what this means, although he is unsurprised by the vagueness of Azura's words. Daedra, good or otherwise, were not known for their candor._

* * *

And with that, the pain of it all slipped from his grasp. Whatever had caused that pain in the first place, he could not remember.

He had remembered to forget--and would, in time, forget to remember. Such was his Way--but he would also remember, in time. In time, when he is ready, though he is not yet ready. Neht stumbles ever on, as one blind; because he does not want to accept his own truth.

When he was ready, he'd be himself. When he becomes himself, he'd write himself--but whether or not he wills this, it is her hand that guides his; his, which is clumsy like a child's as he pens his first words, though they are not the first. The weight of her hand remains upon him, but he did not yet realize this when he was reborn, again and again. He knows it now and wants to escape it. His only escape is through a twisted corridor: a nightmare within a dream. Dagoth Ur, she warns, is false thing, that fears him more than loves him, filled with black lies and a ruinous desire that would turn him into something just as wretched as he is.

Neht wants so badly to cast off the veil of doubt and heed Her words as ever he has, but there is a new heaviness on his heart--and it is not the heaviness that comes with knowing or certainty. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important thing(s) to note for this chapter:
> 
> -I wanted to lavish my readers with the promise of daily updates for both stories, but I’m afraid that a big emotional epiphany I just had---as well as the general mayhem of visiting relations--might inhibit my ability to deliver. However, I will try my best to post reasonably-speedy updates :’]  
> As for the emotional epiphany, that’s mainly personal garbage I won’t bore you with!! As Nibani Maesa said, “I must bring these things into me, and place them before my ancestors, and listen to them, and to the skies and stars of my dreams.”  
> -Yes, there is totally a reference to Ludwig Wittgenstein's "Tractatus" hidden in here :3c that is my easter egg gift to you 'sophy nerds out there! Sorry for the chapter being short and obscure, and for insert my big need for incorporating deep, weird philosophical feels ; ;  
> -"Poor mortals.....This is the way to which your kind is accustomed. But it is for you no longer." Azura's dialogue here is very loosely based on an arbitrary passage I found in a National Geographic Magazine! I don't remember the exact words. I want that to serve as an example to you all that I find writing inspo from the weirdest places, and there is no shame in it! :D  
> -"forgets that he has forgotten"--dude, inspiration for this passage literally came from a conversation my step-aunt (who was visiting from California). "I forgot that I'd forgotten" were her words, and when she said that my brain totally went off like WOWEE, another passage and deep idea for my fic! Bitch stole my tea and did drugs while she was here, but at least this happened!!


	6. Midday Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Background music for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=utJfLohMEr8

_Neht dreams of a tall, familiar masked figure speaking to him of countless wonders with the loving patience of a teacher, though he understands fewer than a single word. Beneath the golden mask, Dagoth Ur wears a knowing smile; both there and in his mind's eye. Neht could see it; visualizing every fine line, curve, and every shape as it amalgamates into that smile. A sense of love and camaraderie hung about them both; until the air itself is suddenly strained by a sense of longing. Neht cannot wholly deny himself this opportunity and continue to pretend that this sense of togetherness is foreign--because he remembers the feeling._

_Dagoth Ur reaches for Nerevar to comfort him, as the Hortator's silence paired with a glazed-over stare, which bodes ill. Nerevar shrinks away from the tender, thoughtful gesture as though repulsed, however--though Voryn recalls a time in which intimacy of a far more intense sort between the two was relatively commonplace between them. It is painful to see his Moon-and-Star like this; reduced to a state where more than ever, he denies himself what he knows deep down to be wonderful, natural and right._

_Voryn tries to hard to pin Nerevar down, in both thought and dream, but Nerevar simply slips right through his fingers, like a luna moth escaping the careless fingers of a child. There is something missing here that neither of them can, at first, place. It does not take long for Dagoth Ur to realize what is missing, and he knows that it missing because Nerevar denies its presence and tries to drive it away. He can't hide for much longer. Much of what is not readily seen is but plain knowledge to a God._

_Neht tries to cry out once more, but cannot make even the tiniest noise--not because the red dream has stifled him, but because he is frightened and confused. A chaotic cacophony of feelings has driven him beyond the realm of utterance. He wants to be blind and lean into the other's embrace. It feels so right--yet it is wrong. He longs to surrender, to NOT be in control, but every fiber of his being screams in rebellion. He knows much that the other wants, and often, it seems that they want the same thing._ _The masked man does not seem to notice, or perhaps he already knows and chooses not to take notice of it._

_The laughter and strange reminiscing continues._

* * *

If not for the eeriness of it all, everything had at first seemed harmless, but Neht awakens with an ominous feeling that masked man wants more than just control. It begins to seem more and more as though what Neht had initially supposed were strange, harmless words were actually an attempt to ensorcell him. The wise woman had warned of him whispering ''black lies'', but she had spoken _nothing_ of being shown truths that were darker still.

As Neht opens his eyes, he is now very aware that what the one called the Sharmat wants is _him._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important thing(s) to note for this chapter:  
> -This chapter also good to read after you read ch.6 from Of Moon-and-Star.  
> -Yes, this is another one of my reinterpreted, spoooopy dreams taken from in game sources.


	7. Their Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MILD SMUT WARNING!!!! Read at your own risk.  
> If you don't want to then just go ahead and skip to the next chapter--there's no shame in that! Ultimately, I want to encourage my readers to do whatever they're most comfortable with. :]
> 
> But for those of you that wanted to see a little bit of action between these two: HERE YOU GO, THIS IS YOUR CHANCE!
> 
> Background music for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aAN14AtJiMc

Trapped in the canopied comfort of these dreams, Nerevar is unafraid of knowing himself. Of _being_ himself. For a brief time, he does not need to cower behind that letter. He does not know exactly when this happened; how it happened, or why. It is a tender fragment of the past--so rather than question it, Nerevar cherishes it; comforted--for he knows that not all good memories are lost.

* * *

  
_"...Now, Voryn. You know my feelings on the matter." The silver-haired Chimer began to distract himself by taking a few strands of Voryn's own crow-colored mane; loosely braiding them together about his fingers. He is careful not to pull the hair, and each time Voryn shifts, his grip upon those filaments becomes lax to afford movement. Nerevar felt at ease, with his lover's head situated against his chest. Whenever it came time for them disentangle themselves from each other, he was always loathe to release Voryn, who_ _felt the same way--but of the two, he was better at hiding it._

_The other's dark eyelashes fluttered, peering from behind a tenebrous curtain of hair. "I'm sorry, my lord." He smirked. "What were we discussing...?"_

_Nerevar bit his lower lip. The two things that inflamed him so were deliberate coyness in unison being defied--specifically by Voryn, who always took care to be a special sort of discreet when he did, and naturally, he was well aware of this. It was wholly invigorating, for the core of it was that Voryn was an absolute challenge--something new, invigorating, and absolutely exciting. Thus, Nerevar was only too eager to throw himself at both the High Councilor and his provocations. Though he did not often express this sentiment openly, a small part of him would always remain extremely proud of Voryn for standing up for his own beliefs, unorthodox though they were._

_Nerevar believed that he took advantage of this knowledge at times, just to see how he would react. If anybody else tried to play similar games with him, Moon-and-Star had conditioned himself to respond with a very different sort of wrath. While Voryn certainly liked to test his boundaries, he usually did so within reason._

_"I see I have distracted you." Nerevar's hands withdrew from the other's hair, but fleetingly. Voryn took Nerevar's hand in his own, gently moving it back to where it had been. Their bodies slid against each they re-positioned themselves. Their limbs intertwine and after some affectionate, lazy play-wrestling on the bed, Nerevar has the better of it and slides atop his lover._

_"Right. Perhaps it isn't wise to discuss politics before bed," murmured Nerevar, grinning into Voryn's chest._

_"I don't mind being a little distracted," whispered Voryn. With a slow trail of kisses, Nerevar moves up from the slopes of Voryn's collar to his neck, eventually reaching his face. Voryn's learned hands caress the other's face, placing his thumb over the middle of Nerevar's lips, eliciting a soft sigh. "No...it isn't...hmmm... **very distracted**..." The Hortator has a one-track mind, which is no longer focused on politics or Voryn's hair as the two are absorbed by what starts as a few pecks on the lips, evolving into something much deeper and far more heated after Nerevar slips him some tongue._

_The eye contact between the two is sensual and rarely ceasing, which causes Voryn to shudder slightly. He is entranced by the serene ambiguity of Nerevar's gaze. He could get lost in those eyes, while their aroused forms subtly slide against each other; with flesh-on-flesh contact barred only by the presence of the sheets._

_Nerevar's hand slides down his back to elicit another pleased shudder from Voryn, and it's almost like a signal. He rolls over almost submissively. "I need you." His usual rich, deep tones are reduced to a broken, lustful whisper just as he feels his legs sliding apart. Nerevar relishes this moment, taking the opportunity to press a few more kisses against his hot skin. Red Mountain itself seems to spark and erupt between the two every time they come into such close contact._

_When he enters Voryn, there is nothing subtle or gentle about it. Nerevar makes love with the same blinding passion and intensity which he possesses during combat or a few heated arguments. He's almost rough enough to be violent, but attentive and mild enough as to ensure that his lover is also enjoying the proceedings. His usual veneer of placidity dissolves, melting away in the heat of the moment, though it would eventually return, along with that slow-burning love they bore for each other._

* * *

_Neht smiles in his sleep, lips parting slightly as he unconsciously nuzzles and draws the nearest pillow into his embrace._

_Dagoth Ur smiles. That is the face of the Nerevar upon which he'd gazed so many loving nights. His beautiful fool; he does not yet see the world that they will make together._

_These are not dreams--rather, they are shared memories; and that's what makes them special._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important thing(s) to note for this chapter:  
> -YES THEY DID THE DIDDLY, FUCKING FIGHT ME  
> -There's numerous evidence of same-sex couples in TES and Chimer worship Mephala and Boethiah as well as Azura, so a little sexual promiscuity is to be be expected, don't you think?  
> -Their feels for each other are secret more because of the political aspects of Resdayn and their positions at the time. Nerevar is married to Almalexia (and needs to provide the image of being happy w/ her in the bedroom so that they can produce an heir for the sake of dynastic continuance perhaps), but it's a political allegiance/friendship between them rather than a normal marriage-for-love type situation. Voryn is also Nerevar's closest advisor and a few people are gonna raise eyebrows and feel like he's lavishing favors on Voryn because of this--basically, it'd probably cause a bunch of drama if it got out and nobody really wants that. For the record, Ayem's also got a fair number of lovers as well--and who could blame her?  
> -Their relationship is pretty deeply rooted in affection and real love for each other rather than just lust, so I tried to navigate AWAY from super-detailed descriptions of them doing the deed....also because whenever I write smut, I feel like it's always trashy no matter how good or poetic I try to be.  
> -Nobody is really consistently top or bottom--they're both pretty vers tbh and I think that's also due to the dynamic of their relationship.


	8. Their Daily Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this fun little memory tidbit (with headcanons that we discussed together), in honor of my friend @SoulStealer1987 because it's their birthday!! WOWEE!! Happy birthday, friendo! <3
> 
> Background music for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4k80rMTDKjE

_Nerevar pored over piles of petitions, correspondence, financial papers and other official documents. Once he got immersed in busywork, he always lost track of time. A small container stood on the table nearby, and the Chimer dipped the fingertips of his index finger and his thumb in the water it contained--taking care not to fully immerse then, because his fingers would soak the parchment and ruin it. He would avoid pesky papercuts while weeding through document after document._

_When a sudden rapping sound came at his door, Nerevar wrenched his gaze from the papertrail, staring at the door in frustration._

_A voice prompted from the other side: "My Lord--" only to be cut off by Nerevar's inevitable reply of, "Busy--leave us." This has happened so many times now that he's lost track of just how many knocks on the door had come._

_"Honestly," he grumbled. "How many times do I have to tell them...?" Surely, even Veloth himself never endured such interruptions!_

_What he guessed to be a few more hours passed and with them, an innumerable amount of papers. The thick, soft drapes over the window were drawn, making it impossible for Nerevar to tell with certainty what time it was. Not that he **cared-** -being, at the moment, wholly immersed in his work._

_However, the next time someone came to the door, he wouldn't be able to dismiss that person so easily._

_Almalexia paced back and forth in her bedchambers; bereft her usual maternal tranquility and warmth. She couldn't believe that her husband had actually locked himself away like a besieged rat while he worked. She, along with several others, had made numerous attempts at sending others in to check on him. Each of these attempts had proved fruitless; but perhaps she had brought that doom upon herself by at first sending timid servants and then his shield-bearer, Alandro Sul--all of whom were just a bit too mild and obedient to challenge their lord. It seemed that if she wanted something done in this world, she'd have to do it herself._

_The scamp! He'd even locked the door, she was sure, to spite them all. It had been two days-- **no,** three. **THREE DAYS!** At this point, he'd had time aplenty to"think about it."  Resdayn and her people needed their lord, and Ayem needed confirmation that her husband was, in fact, alive._

_A note suddenly appeared beneath her doorway, having been slipped between the cracks by whoever had delivered it._

_Ayem stooped to pick up the parchment, which bore the seal of House Dagoth--and it had evidently been sealed by a hurried and heavy hand. It was unsigned--but thin, lovely pensmanship indicated that it was from Voryn Dagoth, grandmaster of his House._

_The important parts read thusly:_

  
_Lady Almalexia,_

 _It has been three moons since anybody has seen or had word from Lord Nerevar. I trust that you are already aware that as tensions have been running rather high lately, it may be prudent to investigate the matter._  
_I write this, meaning to say that if you are unable to get to the bottom of this, I would be happy to volunteer myself for the task._

_It was hastily-written, lacking in (among many things) Voryn's usual formality. But that was all well and good in her eyes, because that indicated he was concerned about his lord. Probably more concerned than she was, at this point..._

_"Alright. This has gone on for long enough!"_

_The doors to her chambers flew open, and Ayem emerged; filled with a thunderous determination to extract the Hortator from his hole. The first servant she found was made to fetch the key to his study. She snatched the key from the slave without a word--a thankless task to be sure--but so, she thought, was being a wife to such an incorrigible creature like Nerevar. But she loved him--well, they loved him. But she wasn't so sure about that right now..._

_She had to---no. **No, no**. Because he'd started this war, she'd have to finish it. And for her grand finish to have the desired effect, she had to find somebody to make an example of. Who else could she think of that shut themselves away and hid like a cowering skeever behind their work?_

_Almalexia didn't have to think much before reaching her answer: Sotha Sil._

_The reclusive mage---while also well-beloved despite his eccentricities, always seemed to burst out of his study and announce his queer discoveries at some of the most inopportune moments. He was walking esoterica--and that in itself promoted a unique mixture of love (and hate) in the few who knew him well._

_Both Nerevar and Sil possessed that extreme workaholic nature, and both for different reasons--Nerevar to a lesser extent, however, but he if he was allowed to get too far in, their behavior patterns would become disturbingly alike. Ayem wondered if they communicated somehow--telepathically?--and had simultaneously elected to burrow into their work._

_She found Sil not too far her husband's study, amazed that he'd actually been the first of the two to emerge. "Ah, Ayem. I was just--" Almalexia didn't wait for his pitiful attempts at an explanation. "Yes," Ayem said, grinning madly. "Oh, I'm sure--You were 'just."_

_Before he even had a chance to explain, or to protest her sudden brutality, she grabbed him--rather like one manhandles an object instead of a fellow mer, and dragged him toward the Hortator's study. Sotha knew that she meant well, and more importantly, he knew better than provoke her further._

_THUNK, THUNK, THUNK!_

_"Somehow," Nerevar muttered, "I get the feeling I'm being had."_

* * *

_Almalexia wailed on the door with Hopesfire still sheathed in one hand and a fearful Sotha Sil in the other._

_Several minutes passed, and there came no response. Ayem continued her assault on the door with renewed intensity and vigor._

_**THUNK, THUNK, THUNK, THUNK, THUNK, THUNK!!** _

_The loud and persistent knocking, at last, elicits a ragged, exasperated groan from the other side of the door--Nerevar's. "What is it?! What do you want?!!"_

_While it certainly wasn't the sort of response she'd been hoping for, it was a good start._ _Ayem needed more than a good start, though._

_A series of haphazard rattling sounds could be heard as Almalexia jammed the key into the keyhole and rotated it, fumbling at first. The great door creaked as it swung open, stopping at being only partially ajar. Ayem kicked it spitefully, forcing the door the rest of the way open. The door's own stubbornness, as she would later attest, was fit to rival Nerevar's own._

_"Three days," she hissed, charging at her husband before he had time to process the spectacle before him: Ayem dragging Sotha Sil behind her like an errant cat._ _It seemed that the ever-elusive Seht was also doomed to join the throng, whether or not he wished to. Almalexia seized Nerevar, at first by his majestic pale hair, before dragging him to one of the numerous private rooms within Mournhold castle. Howbeit, when she set the two troublemakers down, she was surprisingly gentle. "You two. You are going sit here, and you are going to eat. You are going to SLEEP and FUNCTION, like normal mer. We are not under siege! There is no reason for this nonsense!!! No excuse!!! **NONE!!!** "  Her voice grew progressively more shrill because she spoke out of frustration borne by love and concern rather than genuine, ill-natured ire._

_Within a few minutes, piping hot meals were prepared and sent up for the three--and Ayem had impressed upon the servants the need for extra large quantities for both Sotha and Nerevar. Sil looked between the other two, impassive and guiltless. "I had already come here of my own accord," he stated mildly--to which Ayem threw him a black look. Nerevar exchanged glanced with Sotha, nudging him slightly with his elbow as if to say, 'Just play along--don't wanna make her upset.'_

_It did not take long for a rather conceited-looking Vivec, and Voryn--Voryn, who looked like he hadn't slept for the entire duration of Nerevar's absence--to join them. Nerevar moved his gaze from Vivec (who had suddenly looked rather smug) to Voryn to study him. For some reason, Voryn seemed a bit distant, and his eyes would not meet Nerevar's as they convened for an impromptu evening meal._

_Later, Nerevar would learn that Vehk had prompted Voryn to write a note to Ayem to impress upon her a reminder of what was happening. When he'd asked about it, Voryn looked like a scolded puppy. "I'm sorry. It seems foolish, but...I was very concerned about you, Lord Nerevar. I knew that it foolish of me to presume that...." He paused, fumbling with words. When he was around anybody else, Voryn found that he was seldom at a loss for the right phrase--but Nerevar's presence he'd always found particularly disarming._

_"I felt like a tattletale running to his mother whenever someone does something wrong. And...it was wrong!"_

_Nerevar stared at him, surprised. Of all the people that might've chastised him, he'd sooner expect it from Vehk than from Voryn._

_"You shouldn't lock yourself away like that, my Hortator! Sotha Sil may be able to get away with such behavior, but he is not the Hortator, now is he...?" Voryn's tone was tinted by annoyance toward the end. He blanched and looked down quickly. "...Forgive me. I spoke out of turn. It is not my place to scold--"_

_"It's alright, Voryn. You have the right of it. No need to be afraid of offending me." Nerevar smiled--a thin, ghost of a smile that did not appear to allude to joy of any sort._

_The damage was done, Voryn thought. His heart sank--but for now, his concerned centered on his Hortator's appearance. He looked thin and wan--possibly a little ill, and in that moment Voryn severely doubted that Nerevar had eaten, slept, or taken care of himself at all during that three-day period. Nerevar stood there for a moment, as though something else was holding him up; keeping him suspended for a few moments longer after his strength had failed him._

_Nerevar opened his mouth to speak, but no words came fort. His gilt complexion typical of chimer lightened to a ghostly shade at that moment,  swooning to a dead faint. Dagoth caught him before he hit the floor--as though he didn't want his Hortator sullied by it._

_Voryn was quick to call the servants, and they came promptly; hearing the note of panic in his voice. Yet when they came, he felt strangely reluctant to relinquish his beloved Nerevar, who was now slumped over him in an exhausted, unconscious, vulnerable stupor like a ragdoll..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important things to note for this chapter:  
> -Yes it's just another one of Neht's fragmented memoirs  
> -Ayem is the mom-friend in every sense. 10/10, she will kick friends' and husbands' asses if it is for the sake of their own well being.  
> -Let's have a moment of silence for Voryn. POOR VORYN. He's trying.  
> -Clockwork dad committed the sole sin of accidentally being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The ONE time he decides to be social, Ayem is on a rampage. Whoops. Guess we won't see him for another 7 months :']  
> -During these proceedings, Vivec is basically the like Oblivion NPC that peers over the guards' shoulders at you smugly as you're getting arrested. Here's a reference image for what I'm talking about: https://static.fjcdn.com/large/pictures/7a/43/7a43d5_2317575.jpg --Yeah. Vivec is basically the Bosmer there, in that he's in the background going :^]]]] at Nerevar and Sotha because OoOOoOooOOOoo, they're in trouublee!!  
> -"Somehow I get the feeling I'm being had"--this quote came from a funny, older movie I saw on TCM and I just decided to insert it here because it made sense. I don't remember the title of the movie, sadly.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Background music for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FpWcIgIzhBQ

_Dagoth Ur has been watching all of Neht's movements, from the moment his feet had first landed upon Morrowind soil. Those first few footsteps--and the sound of Neht's feet hitting the ground--rang out with such thunderous overture as to shame the rising of the first Numidium itself. Red Mountain itself should feel fit to tremble at his coming--and it does. The Heart-voice speaks to the Sharmat of the New Man. Lorkhan--the heart--awaits the coming of The New Man, although it reveals nothing about who or what The New Man is._

_The echo of those first footfalls could have been heard across creation. It is the sound of Nerevar coming once more to his own. He'd recognize that high forehead, the ambiguity of Nerevar's forced smile and those pale, windswept plumes of hair anywhere. In his mind's eye, he watches as Nerevar's gaze darts to and fro with the jittery, shifty apprehension of youth. In the passing weeks, he comes to discover this younger, more dubious version of Nerevar, wondering if this was how the Hortator had been before they met._

_He remains almost the same, though his complexion has changed, Voryn observes, from the golden overtones of the Chimer to the duskiness of the Dunmer like one dons a new coat; and he wears it well; and with this, he has also shed his years and a few scars as well. Voryn had spent hours with Nerevar in his arms, lightly tracing his fingers over the various scars, tattoos and other markings that once graced the Hortator's form, each borne with pride. Some of them had even been added by Voryn himself!_

_That evening, when Nerevar lays down with the hopes of welcoming sweet oblivion once, more Dagoth Ur draws him instead into the embrace of his dream; eager to behold what has become of his oldest and dearest companion. Nerevar regards him as one might regard a stranger; and an unwelcome one at that. He is fretful, and were it not for the fact that he is held in the power of a god, it seems that he would surely have fled. Lips that Voryn vividly remembers kissing harden into a thin line--a clear indication of fear, anger and disgust. His eyes scream in silent protest--and The Sharmat's ears twitch as they hear the silence that his eye sees._

_At first Nerevar is as stubborn as ever; hiding like a mudcrab in his shell. As before, he withdraws whenever it suits him._

_But over the next few weeks, each dream and every memory lures him out, bit by bit. It's a bit of an experiment, really. Too many truths at once cause Nerevar to cower and slip away, again and again. Coupling the truth of what is to come with the intoxicating sweetness of intimate memories proves to be the right combination--and Nerevar swiftly warms up to him._

_Needless to say, Nerevar is quite animated in his sleep; his body sometimes moving in accordance with the lust he feels within the rapture of memory. He even sleeps with extra pillows, nuzzling them, affectionately head-butting and pulling them close; but even the finest pillows make for cold company compared to the face that haunts his dreams. But always, there is a sword or dagger concealed beneath his pillow. Ever wary, Nerevar's mistrustful hands never stray too far from its hilt._

_They can converse and walk together in their dreams now, as once they did in the waking world so long ago--and Nerevar tells him of how he came to be in Morrowind; and all that he knows of his current life. When they're together like this, Voryn cannot yet bring himself to mention what pains him--the bitter knowledge that he was complicit in the oher's end--but it will come to the forefront of Nerevar's thoughts in good time._

* * *

_As Nerevar hastens to realize himself, he becomes more independent and eventually fearless, gaining more control over his dreams--to the point where he can overwhelm the Sharmat and awaken of his own accord, severing that link between them. While it is an extremely frustrating (and rather unexpected) occurrence, Voryn names it a good sign--for it means he's becoming more like his true self. As always, what Nerevar feels he cannot speak about, he passes over in silence. But the Sharmat hears that silence and can interpret as easily as text across a page, clear and bold. Sometimes, he finds, silence rings louder than words._

_The piercing glimmer of One-Clan-Under-Moon-and-Star has returned to the hand of its master--where it remains and is seen always, both in the corporeal world and in their dreams, as if it had been a piece of his very soul that been broken off long ago, now returned to him._

_During the next of their dream-meetings, Nerevar stands a few feet away from Dagoth Ur. At first, he is aloof, distant and cold--but the veneer shatters easily as he runs toward the other and falls into his embrace. At last, Nerevar has accepted the closeness between them--which had remained undimmed since the day they last laid eyes on each other. Voryn's arms wrap around Nerevar almost instinctively. In each other's arms, there is a strange feeling of wholeness shared between the two._

_He is close now. So close to achieving his goal..._


	10. Someone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Background music for this chapter:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_g_EwP2h1_w  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZ3AoLGAO8Y
> 
> (FinALLY decided to detail Neht's recent past a bit, and when he first stepped off the boat. Hope you guys enjoy!)

_Neht curls up on the cushion-nest on the hearth, engrossed in reading a book about warriors (not unlike himself) when suddenly his mind wandered backward. The tome slipped from between his learned fingers and fell against the padded surface of the pillows._

_In this life, he'd grown up around Cheydinhal--which was where the cultures of Morrowind bled back over into those of Cyrodiil. Neht knew anything about his past or his parents. He knew only that his mother had died some time while he was frightfully young, leaving behind her presumably nameless orphaned son. The manner and cause of her death remained shrouded in mystery along with her identity--each of which Neht had long ago made it a point to one day unravel. When at last he had, he found once more that he'd chased yet another false promise of happiness that seemed to lead to a dead, hollow end: slain mer, by his hand, at the bottom of a cavern on an island..._

_To achieve what was to be the perfect end, Azura had gone back to the beginning, replicating and replacing circumstances as best she could._

_Perhaps the young Neht might've died or become a beggar, if it weren't for Burz gro-Khash and the small Cheydinhal-based branch of the Fighter's Guild. The orc had taught him to fight, read, speak and even walk. From a young age, Neht had displayed a proficiency for combat, armed and unarmed._

_Growing up in the Fighter's Guild by no means afforded Neht an easy, soft adolescence. Early on, Neht had picked up bad habits such as drinking, aggression, spitting and even the occasional profanity, though his choice of phrasing was decidedly more tame and limited to that of those by which he was surrounded. He'd never seen a crib in his life, unlike many small children--also learning to bathe, prepare meals for, and dress himself a few years after he could walk and run. As he progressed in both years and experience, he became a professional sellsword--lunging at each possible opportunity to hone his skills._

_The nightmares and strange dreams which caused Neht to wake up in a feverish state began when he progressed into adolescence, and grew ever more intense and frightening as he grew into full-bodied mer. Always, there came nights where he felt like somebody else; times whee he looked at himself in his dreams and saw somebody else. Somebody older, with a different complexion but many of the same features. The nightly torment and the strange portents increased in both clarity and frequency until at last, they grew unbearable. It eventually became impossible for his guildmates to convince Neht to sleep without letting him first nurse his worries away with the bottle._ _The desire and the need to go to Morrowind had initially started as a small, pea-sized notion that lay dormant in the back of his head--but it consumed him with each passing moon._

_It was like being beckoned by a lost love. All he could talk about before he left was Morrowind--and many of the local Dunmer who did not know Neht well were surprised by his inquiries; learning that he wasn't, in fact, native-born, as many had assumed. A point of contention, perhaps: was being born in the mountains and growing up with strong Cyrodilic influence thereafter a recipe for being branded an outlander, or was it simply based on where was born rather than raised?_

_It was for that reason that Neht left. Even the most perilous of missions he'd undertaken for the guild never made him stray too far from the general area. N did not know to what purpose his visit would be, or what to expect. He knew only when he looked at a map of the Empire that he belonged on the other side of the borderline._

_"Be careful," one of his guildmates had warned, prior to his departure. "Morrowind is an angry nation."_

_Neht, at the time, had grinned. "I'm counting on it." Vengeance, he'd heard, was the favorite national pastime._

_He'd ended up on that miserable prison ship because he'd tried to cross the border illegally--for a mind riddled with such fierce wanderlust entailed paying little heed to the Empire's stiff rules and regulations, which only served to get in the way. It was no small marvel, how that ship had taken him to the very place he'd been trying to go._ _As soon as both feet had hit Morrowind soil, it was like a perfect lock mechanism had clicked into place. This, his heart proclaimed, is home._

_'Home? But isn't Gorne my home..?'_

_'Maybe. Then this place was... ~~home away from home?'~~_

_'No,'  Neht thought. ' **This**....is my home.'_

_He was loath to admit that, like a fool, he'd wandered about his whole life thus far like a blind mind that had willfully doomed himself to remain in the dark. He'd spent how many years, against the wind, not knowing that this was where he belonged? It all fell together, just as it had on Gorne._ _His haughty, upward carriage and militaristic, square-shouldered stride had taken everybody off guard. This, they said, was not the sort of fellow normally seen walking off a prison ship!_

_Not that he much cared what they thought. He was far too distracted by the first thing he'd laid eyes on after getting out of that wretched barge: the baleful shadow of Red Mountain, which loomed mercilessly overhead; draped in ominous, glowing red segments that looked to Neht like the great volcano was crowned with glittering, far-off strands of rubies. He couldn't fall in love with something twice, could he?_

_At first, he thought he'd simply fallen in love with the land; how the mountain would cause the earth to shudder between his toes, the strange fungal forests that were monuments unto themselves; the awkward screeching of a hostile cliff racer that wandered a little too close to civilization for comfort._

_Later, he came to realize who he truly was; and could only begin to guess at how many previous lifetimes he'd wasted trying to figure out something which once he knew so well. It wasn't the mountain that Neht lusted after--it was someone that was hidden within._

_Someone, who calls out him, longingly, night after night._

_Someone, whose voice Neht always found simultaneously frightening and alluring; was now louder and clearer than ever before..._

_Someone, whose fleeting visage is hidden by a mask and the shadows of forgetfulness; always leaving Neht cold and wanting more._

* * *

_A vision of Nerevar swims before the eyes of Dagoth Ur. A few glimpses reveal that the beloved Chimer leader has been replaced with a younger, slightly more churlish parody of himself--and among other things, he's clad in the ashen guise of a Dunmer; though much lighter in color than most and almost silvery in appearance. The center of his high forehead bears an unmistakable mark of Moon-and-Star, though it is soon covered by a few rogue strands of hair. Narrow eyes of a mixed red-fuchsia color dart to and fro; gleaming with mistrust and uncertainty as he assesses his new surroundings._

_His footsteps are like thunder against the soil, and all becomes rather quiet--as if the land were holding its breath in anticipation of his next move._

_Voryn reaches out to touch the vision in awe; for the youthful slopes of the face before him are so perfectly Nerevar's that the whole thing is intoxicating, and he's so nearby that he's almost tangible. His head turns, and it's like those perceptive, angular eyes are staring directly back at him._

_"He is looking at me. But he does not yet know this."_

_Nerevar's lips part slightly in surprise as if he were somehow privy to Dagoth's musings. He turns his head, and the vision soon fades._

_Dagoth Ur is now resolved to visit him more often; affirming the need to observe this dubious new Nerevar and come to know him anew. By happy chance, fate had, at long last, brought Nerevar back to him--putting them together on a collision course that would ultimately culminate with the two of them, side-by-side once more, beneath Red Mountain._


	11. Denial

Neht was half-beast before he'd managed to gain some semblance of relief from Corprus. Many a night, he'd knelt in front of his fireplace in a cold sweat, making deals with ghouls he'd thought he'd witnessed leaping out of the flames; speaking in tongues that sounded like ravens fighting--and he would call out to him from the other side, just as he'd done when he was sleepwalking back in Cheydinhal--standing on the west bank of the Corbolo river whole facing eastward toward Morrowind; calling out to Voryn from the other side. Sounds, colors, all things bleeding together like a shoddy painting left in the sun for one hour too many.

Neht remembers his guildmates desperately trying to call him away. He sees himself, clawing and spitting as they drag him from the river; howling and screaming like a wild beast. These memories were as solid as both fact and stone; and Neht can deny them no more than he could deny the pure truth contained within the unassuming gleam of Once-Clan-Under-Moon-and-Star sitting against his finger--but that didn't stop him trying.

* * *

_"That did NOT happen," Neht hissed. His recollections of the incident, he pretends, are fuzzy._

_Nerevar's obdurate nature is infuriating as it is endearing to Dagoth Ur. "Do you know that your penchant for denial is so futile now, that I could laugh at you for it...? You came outside hoping to see me, and you know it! Let us not pretend."_

_Neht paces about feverishly. "I don't know about **that** , but I do know **you** ," he calls to the unseen presence--and he doesn't like Voryn's tone when he responds!_

_From beneath that great golden mask, the god-turned-High-councilor's jeering facial expression manifests itself in his drawl. "Do you...?"_

_"I know your nature. I see it! I once believed that at times, we were so close that we could nearly the same person."_

_"We **are** that close." Laughter once more lilts Dagoth Ur's voice._

_"We are **not** ," Nerevar retorts._

_Dagoth is emphatic. "We are."_

_"Hmph! Perhaps once. But not anymore." Nerevar's eyes narrow, and his lips draw into a thin, aggravated line._

_"Then perhaps you have your goddess and your willfully primitive superstitions to thank for that."_

_Nerevar shakes his head, closing his eyes to the horrors he's being shown. He would not and will not suffer this blighted vision to pass. If it had just been him that had to shoulder the nightmare, it would've been very different--but Voryn wants the whole of Tamriel to be swallowed up by his blight-storms; his mad dream. "You cannot seriously mean to do this." He does not want to believe that it is HIS Voryn that is doing this, HIS Voryn that is saying these things, HIS Voryn that wills the world to crack and bleed beneath his feet--HIS Voryn, that says such he puts forth painful, agonizing curses out of love. He wants so badly to reach out to Voryn and deny the cruel folly of his machinations as easily as he disputes and denies his own identity with himself--but for Nerevar, it is the coldest and most unavoidable of prices to pay; having to choose between the fate of the world and the one you love._

_"Look around you, sweet Nerevar. It is already being done." He materializes out of the darkness, encircling Neht like a pensive vulture. "When you first came back, you told me you loved me."_

_"I do, but my heart comes second. I fear that there can be no 'us'," Nerevar said firmly, "Not if you mean to force everyone along a tightrope. A line, between death and undeath."_

_"How can you say such things to me when you feel me so eagerly, as I visit you in the night?"_

_Neht regresses, shaking his head wildly. "No, I don't."_

_"Yes, you do." The other's voice is rife with laughter._

_"N-no!"_

_"Hahaha! I could come more often, you know, but I spare you..."_

_Nerevar covers his face, shouting: "THEN SPARE ME!! I can't **stand** to have you close to me when you're like this!!"_

_"Well, that is a shame, isn't it...? Because I will always be **this** close to you. "_

* * *

 Nerevar was, in every way, a frustrating, unopened box--and just when Voryn believed that it might finally be empty, he could hear an alit roaring within.


	12. Little Grey Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YOOOO fam, I know I've been busy lately. Hopefully I'll have time to post and write more after Thursday!!

**_"Is it true that I am really dead and only seem alive in this fallen state?"_ **

**_"Does he imagine that a dream is life?"_ **

**_"...Or am I truly alive, and are his dreams full of things that are, in fact, dead?"_ **

Neht's pensmanship spills out across the page. Awake, he is compelled to record his feelings rather than speak them, wary that the silence just might be listening.  His, this little grey book--would be filled with golden memories, white lies, red secrets and grey, empty truths.

* * *

_Always, Nerevar threw up defenses about himself and became a highly artificial person. He was, or made himself to be, a person of artifice--not of deception, per se, but of tactical dissimulation. The Hortator had to be a master player of pretend and pretense on demand--alongside whatever else the situation called for. In every respect, he was one who'd become accustomed to playing a role, doing his best with what tools he'd been given. He felt like a mirror, which could not naturally exist as it was naturally made to be; for he was obliged always to reflect and react to his surroundings._

_Ever had he lead this curious double existence, all the while bearing an impassive countenance; a statue of a creature that could've weathered all in the midst of public affairs. Beneath it all he was a genuine, unrestrained, pure force comprised chiefly of deeds done. Upon him weighed the ever-present need to be whatever great image his people had conjured up in their minds. Nevertheless, if adulation was thrown at him in a quantity that he deemed too great, he'd find it difficult not to cringe._

_His more artistic endeavors--the affair of which he kept as a fiercely private enjoyment, most especially in this life--displayed a sufficient level of profundity and skill. It was clear that he was someone who produced these works out of a true necessity to make art. It wasn't just a pose, and they were far more than mere doodles thrown together as a product of an idle and overactive mind. The predominant theme that lingered among many of these ink drawings was melancholy, embossed permanently into the faces, themes, and colors of each piece. Each line's tapering of thickness and impression created upon the parchment contained a sort of choleric agitation, rife with anger, sadness, and passion. There was a sense that came when glancing at these sketches that it was, for him, a truthful and genuine form of expression seldom witnessed by anyone._

_Gaining the affection of the masses and those at the top with control, it is, he once told himself, necessary for one to be humane and gracious, holding an ever-present fund of compassion and virtue, and to inspire confidence through wisdom and deed._

_These words had been the precursor for his statecraft; and also harbingers of war--at which he succeeded, against all odds and advice._

_What his Chimer contemporaries found most astounding about his heroic exploits was the formidable performance of the army. All of Resdayn soon marveled at the conditioned movement of its infantry, which advanced like a great steel wall being pushed ever-forward from the back--relentless, indomitable and unstoppable._

_To the soldiers, their general was a fearless comrade who often led from the front--opting as often as possible to dress in the plainest and unassuming regalia, which at first rather matched their own. He showed that outward appearances meant little, per the incentive gained by the enemy--therefore being wont to underestimate his strength. He was, in every capacity, a servant Resdayn and her people, and did not allow himself much personal luxury._

_There was, perhaps, something touching about that sense of close proximity to the everyday mer. Nerevar's humility came naturally as he took things in stride. At full value an act of self-effacement--a blatant refusal to be recognized as an individual, much less an individual of merit that ranked any more or any less above or below his fellow soldiers._

_This habit of self-effacement would remain present over the course of each of his lifetimes._

* * *

_Nerevar's reactions were characteristically decisive and typically carried out in a do-or-die fashion. With him to the battlefield came the full intent of striking first._

_Those gathered about the field on either side were of mixed persuasions and upbringings; lesser commanding officers awash in a combination of stiff customs and tactical formality; troops with loyalties divided--but Dumac and Nerevar's combined might could boast of a tightly-organized, highly motivated and beautifully-drilled army, united under two inspirational leaders._

_The Nords came in a great arc from behind the hills before spilling in an attempt to occupy the higher ground, pushing forward. When Nerevar noticed that they were trying to outflank his position, he used one of the oldest tricks in the book, feigning a retreat._

_The northmen fell for this ruse immediately, entering pursuit mode. At this point, tucked safely away out of sight from the Nord positions, reserves began to bombard the enemy's lines--and in that moment, a detachment or two pushed their advantage._

_By now, two very bad things had happened to the Nords: the first being that their forward-marching columns of infantry had been subjected to heavy fire, courtesy of the Dwemer ballistas--which alone was bad enough, but at the same time, columns of Chimer infantry closed in around the Nords like bladed calipers, cutting their flanks in two._

_As the men of the north--still barbarous in their confusion--began to disperse, Neht awakens, finding that his movements are sluggish; seemingly encumbered with the exhaustion of one who has just fought that selfsame battle._

* * *

With all but an army, Neht was moving through these same motions with mind and body--because of who he was, and might yet further become; rather because of who he _wanted_ to be.

Reborn, he is a living proclamation and testament to the coming unification of the old Resdayn with the new Morrowind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I was watching documentaries about several great European leaders when I got inspired, very suddenly, to write this chapter.


	13. Things that stay

_Neht often told himself that inside, he was as unaffected as unstained white linen; and that nothing got to him unless he let it._ _Lately this does little good, as the words seep right through--for his heart is too full of holes; as who who has lived but not survived it. He'd create his own demons by looking at the truth but pretending not to see--and thus, forgetting himself altogether._

_When he is asleep, he rests soundly; eyelids weighted shut forcefully with the idea of welcoming no visitors--but what walls there were that might bar Voryn from entering Neht's mind are thinner than even the bones of the smallest animal. Voryn simply passes right through._

_Nerevar had said so much in the beginning–enough to fill volumes._

_And then...nothing._

_He'd turned his back, he turned his back…and turned his back some more, until he was facing the wrong way entirely._

_Dagoth Ur is fiendishly tempted to press the matter, though he refrains from doing so because he knows it is a fruitless process. However, it seemed safe to assume that, as endings went, Nerevar's was not particularly pleasant--but he wouldn't say so himself._

_It was hard to accept that object of his infatuations had been, for a long time, quite dead. Quite dead, but now it seemed that he was rather alive. He just couldn't remember the things that had caused this; that beginning, which was also his end._

_Something was holding him back. Perhaps it was his body that best remembered what occurrences it had weathered and that without it, there was not as much to hold on to._

_He has come many times--perhaps more, and perhaps less than was his guess. But Azura had often left him alone after each reincarnation, leaving him with only his own confused eyes to look back at himself with. Many times he'd died and lived again, never coming within miles of his own self; having forgotten before he could forget how to remember._

_For now, he believes Nerevar entirely when he says that he can't recall exactly what happened in the end. Sometimes, he'd witness the Hortator struggle with the recollection of it--and more as if he were trying to remember something he'd once heard, and curiously enough, not as one might struggle when remembering an event. However, Voryn also begins to suspect that perhaps Nerevar doesn't want to remember._

_But how does one forget something as vital as that? How could someone forget his own death?_

_How, for that matter, could he even pretend to forget--and on top of that, deny it all?_

_How, indeed? Because death is a thing that stays; impressed deeply in place like heavy-handed script upon parchment, or ink stains which remain there, even after they've been covered up, leaving nothing he cared to see._


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tale of one drunken night together that ultimately make Nerevar and Voryn actualize the intensity of their feelings for one another.
> 
> (Look, look I know you guys have been sorely bereaved of proper NereVoryn content since the ending of Arc I, and I feel it--so now I'm here to deliver. ;u; )
> 
> Background music for this chapter:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6enjiJzxfDo

_Voryn can't help but study that full mouth intensely as it moves; and the image of it swims immediately to the forefront of his mind, most often when he's alone and trying to focus on something else. All sorts of indecent notions regarding the Hortator and his mouth came to be the stuff of the most embarrassing dreams--which would sometimes devolve into the most disagreeable of nightmares; becoming an ever-dreaded testament to the high level of attraction he felt present between Nerevar and himself--which, he's certain, is completely unrequited._

_Lust, at least, was normal. Regrettably, he knew it to be more than a passing fancy by this point in their friendship, but never had he dared entertain the idea that it might amount to anything. He contented himself (or so he wished to believe) that he'd since accepted the impossibility that there could ever be anything beyond friendship between the both of them; and that he was yet another admiring onlooker of sorts that was and would remain, before Nerevar, lost in a sea of them._

_There had, at first, been a sense of hope that rose up in him whenever Nerevar would look his way---which he frequently did--to give him these strange, quick, deep looks; but whenever he tried to divine the purpose of those enigmatic glances, Voryn was forced to accept that this, too, was yet another impossibility--as was the false hope that came with it, which was quickly beaten down like an unfortunate troller lost in a gang-occupied alleyway. Something inside Voryn wouldn't allow himself to even consider that maybe Nerevar fancied him, too._

_So too was he trapped in a cycle of frustration (which he endeavored always to subdue) as he dealt with the fact that Nerevar liked to keep everybody (even those who were closest to him found no exemption) at arm's length--the perfect distance that allowed him to pull them in and cast them away whenever he needed to. There were all sorts of small, trifling things that lead his heart to dig up this issue when he longed to bury for good--chief among them being how Nerevar would not admonish him outright, or display the same manner of thunderous rage to which everybody else was subject whenever they entered a heated argument and those incomprehensibly long, roving stares he'd give from across the room at seemingly random intervals._

_However, as all things are doomed to change and even the most carefully buried of truths are eventually exhumed--so they were, one drunken evening. When Nerevar nursed the bottle after a particularly difficult day--as every so often was his tendency--it was decidedly best that someone was with him in order to prevent things from going too far--and frankly, to keep the Hortator (who was prone to becoming somewhat ornery after he'd had a few) out of trouble. On this particular occasion, he'd called for that someone to be Voryn, specifically. Perhaps, Nerevar considers, he plans to do something that he has no business even thinking of--but he means to **make** it his business, and Voryn along with it._

_The topics of conversation moved smoothly from here to there until Voryn made a remark concerning Nerevar's reaction to a certain fiasco involving Ayem, himself, Vehk and Seht--and Nerevar's propensity of burying himself in his work to the point of his own detriment. Effectively, Voryn was also imploring not to make an early tomb out of his work._

_Nerevar studied Voryn closely. "You, too, have made this statue of me in your mind, old friend. Allow yourself to deconstruct it." For someone that was supposedly drunk, his words rang with a disconcerting level of clarity--and still more disconcerting was the creeping sensation of close physical contact between them, which had, mere seconds, ago evolved into Nerevar leaning against Voryn. What had they been discussing? Voryn could hardly remember, for Nerevar pressing into him like this proves to be, among other things, extremely distracting!_

_Things got quiet but Nerevar continued; his reservations long since having faced removal at the hands of too much brandy. "You expect certain things of me--things that the people expect, who've never even met me, and know only the legends as they hear them." He looked up at Voryn, Secunda-colored eyes almost remorseful as they silently suggest that the other should know better. At this point, they were nearing nose-to-nose proximity with one another, and Voryn was falling headlong into those eyes--and if he looked into them for too long, he feared that they may become his prison. It was safe to say that if he'd decided to, Nerevar could Voryn there forever in his gaze._

_Things were about to escalate, and quickly._

_It does not occur to him---rather, he refuses to LET it occur to him--that Nerevar had very nearly kissed him just now and that he would've, had it not been for Voryn forcing himself, almost mechanically, to move his head up and just out of Nerevar's reach. Nerevar, Voryn tell himself, is drunk--yes, QUITE drunk, because he would never, never risk such close physical contact. He'd never engage in this sort of behavior._ _He'd never slide into Voryn's lap, murmuring indecent things into his ear. Never--but in pursuit, Nerevar is now inescapable. He captures Voryn's mouth with his own; and after those lengthy moments, it isn't long before desire and fascination rise before them both as the victors of the battle as Nerevar begins to paw desperately at the fastenings of Voryn's robe._

_"My Lord, you mustn't! You are drunk," explains Voryn; and his tone sounds a bit more like he's pleading then he would've liked as he gently peels the Hortator off of his lap (and with no small amount of difficulty.)_

_"Yes, sweet Voryn," remarks Nerevar rather dryly, with fingers still curled. "I must **not!** " His lopsided grin grows, and that can only mean that he's interpreted this as a challenge; and thus, the Hortator is baited, unfortunately--no, **inadvertently,** by his friend. Undeterred, Nerevar climbs back in his lap and the petting resumes, increasing in its intensity; for Nerevar refuses to let Voryn swat him away again like a bug. Between each kiss, Voryn can sometimes manage to get in a word or two of protest._

_"My lord---"_  
_"Drunk---"_  
_"I cannot--"_  
_"On your honor--"_  
_"---And mine..."_

_"Impaired judgment and compromising my honor," Nerevar breathes against the other's neck, "Is **that** what worries you...?" His now quiet, subdued tone bears the promise of danger, and the glint in his eyes is almost feral as he looks up at Voryn, who is now trapped helplessly in their shared embrace. Nerevar aims for Voryn's neck, planting more than a few heated kisses up and down each swanlike slope; triggering something in Voryn that causes him to pin Nerevar down almost furiously in an instantaneous act of reversal, eliciting a shocked gasp from the Hortator's throat. He hadn't anticipated this--but then, with Voryn, he was never too sure what to expect. Though Nerevar is the more muscular of the two, Voryn is far stronger than he looks, and is able to hold Nerevar down--perhaps because the other wishes it._

_Now, Voryn is the relentless one as he shucks both their clothes off in record timing. Nerevar's legs ply apart with relative ease, and a soft chorus of heated sighs erupt as he's taken. Gone is the contrived, sardonic grin from his lips; replaced instead by a strained, impassioned expression, though the sensual eye contact between the two remains undimmed and unbroken throughout the duration of their lovemaking. Throughout the whole of it, Voryn cannot believe that the form writing beneath his is Nerevar's; he cannot believe that the voice begging him to continue is Nerevar's; and cannot believe the words "I love you!" are also Nerevar's as he hears them--nor can he believe that he's let the both of them slip into such indecent circumstances. Each has entered a world where want is the only currency that can best replace words. Surely, as he later tells himself, it was definitely the brandy speaking, and not Nerevar!_

_By the time they finish, Nerevar is curled up against Voryn, lying on his stomach with his fingers gently entwining a few strands of crow-colored hair. He falls asleep in this fashion--holding those stands of Voryn's hair like a child might hold fast to their favorite stuffed animal, and seems further comforted when Voryn, almost instinctively, begins to stroke Nerevar's own hair. As the veil of sleep closes in about them, Voryn decides that the whole thing was a dream--and if it wasn't, that it would be forgotten; and that the all-encompassing bitterness of having to forget was something he'd deal with tomorrow, and perhaps ever after. Occasionally, Nerevar nuzzles Voryn in his sleep, coupled with the affectionate budging of his head against whatever's nearest. They're both precious to each other, and maybe up until now, they haven't made to realize just how much._

_Something like this was too good to be true, and it had almost certainly been a dream--but, as Voryn wakes to the sight Nerevar kissing his forehead gently, he is forced to come, rather prematurely, to the conclusion that it had all been very real. "I will never forget this," whispers Nerevar with a smile--a real smile, not a contrived component of greeting an unwanted situation--before dressing and making himself sparse--for if the two of them were to get caught, it might bode ill. As he returns to his own chambers during the first few hours of morning, the skies are still dark, and all is yet to be bathed in the gilt glory of Azura's dawn. A smile remains on his face as he thinks about Voryn's eyes, which were partially opened at a somewhat aggravated angle, indicating that he wasn't quite ready to be awake._

_He thought also about his confession of love, which Voryn had so readily reciprocated, and became concerned that perhaps his own confession had come too early, and that Voryn's might've been prompted by the heat of the moment. Perhaps it had all been too much, too fast and too soon--but unbeknownst to Nerevar, the same concerns are reeling through the mind of Voryn, who, even now, sits up in bed trying to grasp and accept what had transpired the previous evening. Each erratic beat of Voryn's heart informs him that the immense attraction he'd felt for the winsome young mer that had come lobby his vote for Hortator all those long years ago was far more than a passing fancy--and each flickering image of Voryn behind Nerevar's eyelids fills him with such longing as to prompt him to the brink of tears._

* * *

_Nerevar awakens and returns to the present, where he's nestled awkwardly against a sundry array of pillows he'd thrown together in front of the fireplace. He glares at the pillow he'd been resting his head against--almost as though he's angry at it for not being Voryn._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -No particular chapter goes from OMaS goes with this dream.  
> -There's a reference to a previous chapter--"the fiasco" referring to the events in which Ayem had to assert her status as momfriend in chapter 8.


	15. Is he...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (We get some of Voryn's perspective on Nerevar(ine) here.)

_Dagoth Ur sleeps beneath Red Mountain, as the dead may dream that they are indeed alive again._

_For the first he witnesses the Incarnate, and becomes only vaguely aware that such an individual has come to exist--and can hardly fathom the sorry sight as it swims before him._

_'If this is indeed Nerevar, then he is far from where he should be,' Dagoth Ur muses quietly._

_This person, whoever he is, is an image cast perfectly in the mold of Nerevar. All seems as it should be, down to the most immaculate and minute of details--however, so too is it completely, utterly and entirely wrong._ _The trembling, timorous youth is curled up in a tiny, craven ball that stands in sharp contrast to what one might glean simply from a glance at at his tall, muscular structure. Perhaps, if he had seen only that visage outside of the surrounding environment, it might've proved very promising indeed._

 _The wall against that now-humbled figure presses belongs to_ _a room full of objects and decor which Dagoth Ur finds extremely distasteful, because they heavily imply Imperial influence. Certainly, there had been talk of a prophecy suggesting that the Incarnate would ultimately be an outlander, it is immensely sobering to think of Nerevar, reborn as an outlander and tainted so heavily by the traditions and customs borne of the Imperial yoke._ _The manner in which he cowers, painfully subdued by his free own will, is unbecoming for Moon-and-Star. It's clear that he's been thrust into the armor of a mer whose worth that he is not even half equal to rather than the noble, beautiful image of the mer embossed forever upon Voryn's heart._

_Dagoth Ur's belief seems to be echoed and reaffirmed throughout each of the other's actions: **it's not him, it's not him, it's not him, it's not him...**_

_A look into his eyes reveals a child, confused and frightened--a world away from the steely gaze for which the Hortator was renowned; undeterred and unwavering, like his courage. The youngster dives under the bed, scuttling across the floor like a frightened shalk; rife with the feeling and fear of one who knows that somehow, he's being observed by ubiquitous forces unseen. From what does he flee? Does he suppose that there are scamps in his closet??_ _Nerevar, even for all his iniquities, would never submit to such low standards, and would never behave in quite a pathetic and unseemly fashion._

_The question remains long in Dagoth Ur's mind: 'Then who is this perfidious creature, and above all, how dare he wear Nerevar's face? It is an insult.'_

_He wishes sorely that there was some way that he could unsee what he'd witnessed; that pathetic little boy; that paper kagouti crawling under the bed--but the visions of a god, he reminds himself, are not as evanescent as the visions of a mortal._

_Incipiently, he believes that the little craven would be crushed beneath his new dominion if ever he came to Morrowind--though he soon loses interest in this fallacious paper prodigy altogether. However, years later, after the both of them have come to an awakening of sorts, it is this selfsame creature that steps off the boat, and this time, it's every inch his beloved Nerevar. Despite the Incarnate's Cyrodiilic upbringing, it appears that the Empire's attempts at ruining him have been of little avail. It's clear by Nerevar's contemptuous expression and the haughty, upright angle of his carriage as he's escorted from the ship and into Seyda Neen that he is beholden to the oppressors for releasing him solely out of that sense of honor and obligation that had been with him always, rather than out of genuine appreciation for their Empire._

_Perhaps there were surprises in store for him yet. Dagoth Ur focuses in on him with renewed vigor and interest, as a contestant craves his great gilded trophy._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Un)Important thing(s) to note for this chapter:  
> Basically, the whole thing about Neht/Nerevar's identity is as I told a friend of mine during a very recent conversation:  
> Neht: *looking at Nerevar* who are you?  
> Nerevar: we're the same guy. I'm literally you, but better :]
> 
> -Neht had a bit of a rough start in life. I'll probably add more detail about this later, idk  
> -I figured that since Voryn as Dagoth Ur is like !!!! WE MUST GET RID OF THE EMPIRE!!!, seeing Nerevar reincarnated to grow up in Cyrodiil, not quite so far from the Imperial city, was a bit upsetting at first.


	16. Falling Leaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Background music for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GhUfH5yXgfc

_Graceful, like a falling leaf caught in the wind, he embraced the serenity that came with renouncing all past hatreds that consumed him--scattering them like dust in the wind. It was a beautiful sight--and nothing short of amazing, even in the eyes of a God. Perhaps there were things of Nerevar that he might yet learn._

_"Sometimes, the mere gravity of a situation can harm a person more than a weapon," Neht murmured--presumably to himself, finding that in times like this, it was exceedingly useful to mull over things he'd learned aloud, even if it were a mundane and somewhat arbitrary passage he'd picked up during his training._

_He was_ _perfectly content at being steeped in his constant efforts to ignore the one who had summoned him into this dream in the first place--which generally proved futile. Ill able was Nerevar in his first life to ignore Voryn, and both of them soon found out that he wasn't any better about it in this life._

_Dagoth Ur was immersed in his own set of contemplations while studying the heroic features of the youth before him. He can scarcely believe that Nerevar wants to continue the charade--much less why this is the case--but at any rate, he'd soon divine its true purpose. "_ _Lord Nerevar, are you really content to remain a broken blade...? Are there no flames hot enough to forge you anew...?"_

_"Would you stop calling me that?!" Neht snaps peevishly. "I don't really have a name, but that's not a free invitation for you to give me one, you know. I had to choose one for myself, 'soon as I was able to read."_

_Before Dagoth Ur can attempt to ask what the significance of the letter Neht was--a question that he knew the answer to already, but he'd want to hear it from Nerevar himself._

_"Before you can ask," he began--much as Dagoth Ur had anticipated, "I don't KNOW why I chose that letter. You're going to ask me if it means something. Because Nerevar begins with an 'N,' you're going to proselytize me, and say something like: Yes Lord Nerevar, you chose that letter because it is the first letter of your name, and I don't know why you bother denying it. WELL." Neht waggled his finger at the other very matter-of-factly, much to Dagoth Ur's amusment. The Incarnate's lips splay into a wide but fleeting grin--and Voryn recalls that same image being emblazoned upon the face of a certain Chimer general. "You, sera, are in danger of becoming very predictable!"_

_A god, however is really only predictable to someone that knows him--and knows him well, just as Nerevar and Voryn had known one another. With this sobering realization, the smile soon fell from Neht's face._

_"Also," he breathed--and how wonderful it was to hear and see Moon-and-Star in his little element once more. Often, he was reserved on the exterior, but took no issue with giving those close to him friendly, almost fatherly lectures. He would gesticulate animatedly, as though the concepts of which he spoke were tiny, tangible things which he was attempting to grasp with both hands before drawing them somehow out of thin air to show them to others. "You act like you're giving me answers, but let me tell you something: the only thing you're doing is confusing me more..."_

_"You frighten me sometimes, you know," Neht adds--and though this assertion seems a little out of place, it's attributed to one of the Hortator's idiosyncrasies which Voryn knows well: Nerevar fishing through whatever thoughts flowed through that snowy head of his before putting a voice to them, and sometimes he'd do so at the most inopportune of moments. Either way, it was a bit unusual for him to admit feeling fear. Either way, Dagoth Ur chuckled--because in his mind, that was quite a confession!_

_When he's sure he's about to slip right back into a vision of Voryn and Nerevar standing staunchly, side by side, in battle--and as that scene melts into the two enjoying a moment of intimate closeness, Neht immediately protests, clapping both hands over his eyes--as if THAT would somehow remedy and prevent the scenes that played out behind his eyelids. "STOP! Stop...I don't want to see these things! Why are you showing them to me??" Dagoth Ur detects a hint of anger in his tone, which means that Nerevar will soon wake. Their conversations of late had often been delightful, up until end, toward which Nerevar was prone to becoming cross. He wonders if Nerevar--or Neht, as he now emphatically introduces himself--is waking himself up deliberately somehow, as a means of escape, and if so, why? Where he'd almost tasted the other's fear during their first few encounters in the divine dreamworld, the hapless flavor of fear had been significantly lacking as of late._

_The Sharmat folds his arms, and a deep sigh erupts from beneath the weight of that mask. As always, he had to spell things out for the Hortator, plainly. "That is us."_

_This explanation, however, just seems to make matters worse. Moon-and-Star glances at Dagoth Ur and then down at himself and then guffaws rather loudly. "Oh, I'm sure..." His snowy brows arc with a mixture of amusement and disbelief._

_"It was us, once," Dagoth adds quietly--and even though the statement is true, Nerevar appears less than convinced._

_Moon-and-Star paces to and fro rapidly. "And you'd tell me these things, I'd wager, because you want them to be true--and because you obviously have quite an ego, calling yourself a god and all that. Perhaps you'd make these things true even if you knew that they weren't. Yes...I think that is **exactly** what you'd do...far sooner than I'd hear you admit that you were wrong about me being your beloved Nerevar."_

_"You would presume to know my mind..?" Well, perhaps it was a little too late for that particular question--but Dagoth Ur had it nevertheless._

_The Dunmer Incarnate took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them both. "I don't have to presume--I know." Now, the smile is back, but in the place of the Neht the Dunmer Incarnate stands Indoril Nerevar the Chimer; whom Dagoth Ur still finds infuriatingly beautiful, even in both pride and insolence._

_They are the same--and everything he does now echoes this suspicion. ' **It's him, it's him, it's him...'**_

_Perhaps Nerevar had played this hand a little too soon. He begins to suppose that Dagoth Ur had created this situation for the expressed purpose of drawing him out, as it were--for there had been something almost smug about the Sharmat's silence thereafter._

_"I'm going to make it a point of avoiding you," Nerevar calls into the blood black darkness before it evaporates around him, and the response to his quip is Voryn's laughter: **"You may try!"**_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Tfw you accidentally forget to hide your beautiful chimer soul and the cat's out of the bag now.  
> -For some reason I imagined N accidentally confessing some stuff and then Dagoth Ur just laughing and saying, "Gee Lord Nerevar, tell us how you REALLY feel!" or something iunno  
> -The title of this chapter may or may not be a reference to the title of a new fic I'm working on.... c; c;


	17. Rumors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A distant memory that entails Nerevar going fishing for some rumors about Voryn ((this occurs before they get involved(tm)), and fishes up a Vehk, along with some juicy info that might just be too good to be true.
> 
>  
> 
> BGM for this chapter:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aWPp5s4pNXk

_It is, Ayem suspects, as Nerevar would sometimes say during one of his paranoia episodes: that the public might not like the real Moon-and-Star if ever they were to find out about him. If he took the ring off, he feared that things, as he often liked to say, would all be blown to Oblivion._ _Not that his personality was lacking without the enchantment, but it did certainly help him go the extra mile to persuade particularly difficult individuals over the course of several particularly grueling negotiations--Almalexia herself chief among them at first._

_Though the age difference between the two was decidedly disparaging, with Nerevar being about a generation apart from her, Ayem feels that somehow, she is the more wizened of the two and thus, in her the need to look after her wayward merchild of a husband is paramount; a fire she stokes within herself each day. The need to moderate him just as she had been made to moderate Resdayn from a fairly tender age is something she takes in stride; often unaware that she's in the act until she finally dares to admit that she might need a break._

_She made sure that he was nourished properly, though at first she'd accepted this task with great reluctance fueled by the belief that he was a grown mer and old enough to make the right decisions for himself. Nerevar, she found, did not fall prey to the normal set of temptations such as greed, gluttony, and the like--save the tiny, childish desire in him that occasionally surfaced to be selfish. Selfish, in Ayem's eyes, for it worried her greatly when he would take spells of refusing food, and many came to fancy that he did so out of piety--piety, which Ayem knew rightly to be stubbornness. It's amusing. She is his de-facto mother in a sense, scolding him for not eating his vegetables--a crime of which the Hortator is extremely (and admittedly) guilty._

_If her moderation of his habits came in the form of a command, then that was the form in which Nerevar found it most easy to refuse, and bullying him proved of little use. The Hortator, by default, was a stubborn creature. Stubborn, but not altogether incorrigible. Almalexia wasn't the Mistress of Mournhold for nothing, and soon found ways to manipulate him. A little pooch of the lower lip; a few glassy eyes, the fluttering of the voice like a torchbug in the breeze--conniving, perhaps, but all done for the sake of his own good. If she lodged a gentle request, and let on as though her feelings might be hurt, he'd fold faster than a poorly-constructed gulakyurt in an ashstorm._

_Having extracted him from the brink of overexertion at his daily duties, Almalexia watches with a relieved smile as her husband putter off from his (reluctantly) finished meal in search of something non-taxing with which to occupy himself. Sun-red curls are slightly damp from the overexertion that came from preventing the overexertion of another. For once, she feels that she may retire peacefully this evening, knowing that she left Nerevar in a relaxed state._

_He was not liable to stay that way, however--but this concern is not what bothered her. Reflecting as the servants undressed her, she realized that it had been quite some time since he’d visited her chambers. After all, appearances had to be maintained!_

_A flash of blue, silver and white whizzes past Voryn suddenly, before either even had the chance to greet the other. A few midnight-colored locks billow out briefly as Nerevar passes him more swiftly than a small but furious ash storm. He thought he’d caught a glimpse of the Hortator’s expression, steeled with determination, and Voryn wondered what manner of errand he might be running at this hour. He paused for a moment, as something in him longed for Nerevar to come running back and greet him properly. He didn’t want to be **greeted;** he just wanted to **see** Nerevar, whose smiling face he’d been bereaved of for several days now. At this time, neither party knew anything of their feelings for each other, and both were hell-bent on keeping it that way--at least, for the time being. Voryn stares at the hallway miserably. Nearly an hour elapses, and when at last he assures himself that Nerevar isn’t coming back, he drifts off to retire for the evening; all the while taking great care to conceal the hurt that had been looming against his features. _

_At first, Moon-and-Star is not even aware that it was Voryn he’d nearly bulldozed--but ruminating on the matter moments later suggests that those crimson robes and luscious black hair are both unmistakably Voryn’s--but he can’t spare the time to talk to him right now. If he did, Nerevar fears that his plans may be put into jeopardy--or worse, he would risk Voryn becoming offended by a series of pointed, prying and otherwise extremely person inquiries he was tempted to throw at him._

_The truth of it was that Nerevar never knew what to expect from Voryn and that the inverse of this was also quite true. Nerevar had a soldier’s conditioning that mandated he prepare for worst when he knew otherwise not what to prepare for._

_The lord high councilor himself was not likely to surrender this information by choice. In fact, there may have been a snowball’s chance in the Deadlands of Voryn making any confessions about himself or revealing personal information--especially without celebratory circumstances and the tongue-loosening effects of alcohol--beyond the most rudimentary of things, such as how his house, brothers, and Kogoruhn were faring. His old friend was as honorable as he was forthcoming about everything, aside from himself._

_So Nerevar went to Vehk straight away, for it was to his knowledge that Vehk knew well (and made it a point to know) all the various gossips, salacious tales and goings-on of council and court. Suffice it to say that he was a walking encyclopedia of everyone’s most scandalous mishaps, including the Hortator’s own, which Vehk took great care only to brandish during situations in which he absolutely needed to persuade Nerevar to do something for his own benefit._

_Judging by the makings of an ornery smile on Vivec’s mouth, he was about to be in for quite the ordeal. Learning these things from Vehk was not going to be so trivial this time. Before the young tribune could catch sight of him, he made sure to finish the contents of a potion whose brewer had privately assured him would prove an invaluable boost to his personality, as it was always better to play it safe in these sort of situations._

_"Vivacious Vivec." Nerevar had stored in his arsenal a number of friendly, informal monikers for those closest to him, which he made use of as a means to extract information or deeds from one of them--a gesture that no doubt met the approval of Vehk himself, who was nothing short of infamous for doing the exact same thing, but on a much grander scale._

_Vehk’s left eye winked at him fleetingly, and he grinned beatifically. As usual, alliteration never failed to tickle the amorous poet’s fancy, and the smile grew even bigger as several seconds passed--along with a mischievous, pleased twinkle which grew manifold in those sky-blue eyes. He knew that Nerevar needed something from him, and no doubt, he fancied doling out some sort of price for whatever information the Hortator was to extract from him._

_Nerevar steepled his fingers. He had now, as he saw it, two options: risk suspicion or find nothing out at all. He was going to take a chance here, and Vehk was indubitably gambling on Nerevar’s own gamble here._

_“What,” he began casually, “are they saying about Lord Dagoth?”_

_Vivec was always quick to jump to conclusions where such matters were concerned, abruptly making Nerevar wish that he'd held his tongue. So too would he make it a point of knowing whatever went on in the high bedchamber, were it that Nerevar might still let him. Where the youngest tribune was involved, it seemed that absolutely nothing he could do was destined to remain subtle. As Nerevar had neither expressed interest of any sort in anyone recently, nor had he taken to bed any of his previous paramours, the flames of Vivec’s were thus stoked from a few curious embers to a roaring and incessant fire._

_"Oho! So you’ve set your sights on him, have you...? Well, it comes as no surprise, given the way I’ve seen him look at you…”_

_This was undoubtedly a feint--which meant that Vivec was testing him. Immediately, he searched Nerevar's face, and his own soon fell with disappointment. The other had obviously been scrying for a sign--a blush, an aversion of the eyes, or anything else that may indicate attraction or being otherwise flustered by the notion--which Nerevar was careful NOT to show under any circumstances, since he knew Vehk was conditioned to search for any hint of what might be afoot as it translated on his quarry’s face._

_“I make it my duty to know these things,” Nerevar interjected quickly before Vivec might demand to know why. The younger Chimer did not appear convinced, but he may change his mind later, as he was so liable to do, if Nerevar behaved as though utterly disinterested in Voryn._

_Not that he wanted to don a high, cold, disconnected facade and behave as though he were shunning Voryn; but for the sake of secrecy--and Vehk not being allowed to invade such secrecy--it appeared that this was the way things would have to be. Nerevar sighed--in a manner that would cause Vehk to view it as aggravation when it was, in truth, carefully-masked disappointment. In hot pursuit of his inquiry, Moon-and-Star was not about to be waved off so easily! Luminous silver eyes flashed; containing within them a tiny, impatient piece of lighting that seemed momentarily borrowed from the stormy heavens._

_“To answer your question: the usual,” Vivec replied with obvious disinterest after an exceedingly long pause._

_Nerevar squinted. “And what, pray tell, is "the usual?” Here, was unable to mask the terseness in his tone, causing the other Chimer’s mouth to form in a little ‘o’ of surprise. Vivec hadn’t intended to trample on any of the Hortator’s sizable toes here, and judging by his curiously erratic behavior, something was almost certainly up. With that epiphany, Vehk’s interest in the subject was rekindled._

_“Well, they say there’s something not right about him…”_

_“Not right about him??” Nerevar repeated, a little too loudly, and Vehk grinned impishly. He was quite the orator and loved telling a good story, especially if it meant that it could bring even Nerevar to the edge of his metaphorical seat. Vehk glances at his index finger briefly, and fancies that he sees a tiny, cherubic parody of Nerevar scurrying across it like a bridge, eager in his swiftness for Vivec to continue his story, as it were. The youth’s tale-weaving came in the form of small, invisible cords which he could use to wrap all of Resdayn around his thin digits if he so desired._

_The youngest tribune rocked back and forth on his small feet idly, adding a bit of a pause and a few gestures here and there to ensure that Nerevar was rapt--which, by now, he was, for want of learning about Voryn. “He’s a bit weird, I hear. Mage, you know. They’re all a bit weird, I suppose.” That quip was directed in part, rather pointedly, as Sotha Sil as well. “Bit of a loner, I suppose--and surprisingly not married, even at his age.” Vivec had said that last bit almost scathingly, but carefully added: “Not that he looks it,” complete with a flash of his thin brows--definitely in an attempt to see if Nerevar would be jealous of the implications behind such a gesture, but Nerevar knew that if Voryn would not surrender himself to him, then Vivec was certainly out of the question (barring trickery via the use of substances, magic, extortion and seduction--all of these things for which Vivec had both a propensity and a great fondness for making use of when it suited him.)_

_None of this was was new to Nerevar, however, and listened with a rather stony expression. He had supposed that he was going on this grand and secretive mission to seek Vivec and make him divulge the most wonderful and interesting things about Voryn, which Voryn might never admit or speak of--but precisely the opposite was happening. He wanted to admonish himself for getting his hopes up like this._

_Blissfully unaware of the growing clouds of turmoil in his friend’s mind, Vehk went on pleasantly. “There is an interesting rumor I’ve heard recently, though…” There came another pause for added effect._

_‘Thank Azura, we’re **finally** getting to the point,’ Nerevar thought bitterly. He hated beating around the bush, as it were--and that just so happened to be one of Vivec’s chief proficiencies. _

_“All of his recent...escapades…” At first, Nerevar looked at him questioningly, silently demanding to know what Vehk meant exactly by ‘escapades’, but at any rate, he soon had his answer. “You know what I mean. Hehehehe. Anyway--they’ve all been pale-haired Chimer. He prefers the muscular sort, too.” Vivec was staring at Nerevar now. “Not many among us have that kind of hair, so I guess he probably goes to great lengths to find such catches for himself.” His eyes moved to the Moon-and-Star on Nerevar’s finger, and the proximity between them closed as Vehk became salaciously close to sitting in Nerevar’s lap. The other’s breath was rife with the smell of sujamma._

_Nerevar darted, gently placing Vehk onto a nearby cushion, and the youth soon toppled over into a sleepy stupor. Regrettably, it seemed that the Hortator’s preparations had backfired on him. “Foolish,” he chuckled, adjusting Vehk’s slender frame into what he hoped would prove to be a comfortable sleeping position for him. Dismay soon dulled his smile, however, as he realized that information pried from a drunken source was probably unreliable._

_Nerevar sighed again. A drunken and inadvertently seduced source. Almighty Azura, where had he gone wrong?_

_“Well, that’s no good,” he muttered before storming off, exasperated by the fruitlessness of his efforts._

_Perhaps it was good, though--too good to be true. Or if it was true, then Nerevar refused to entertain the notion, along with the obvious implications and potential connections to himself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I ALWAYS had headcanons about Lexy being the superior momfriend, and Nerevar finally being allowed to be a meat and potatoes boy after reincarnating, hehehe.  
> -Voyn is a goshdarned mystery and Nerevar is determinnneedddd to figure him out lmao. Little does he know that Voryn feels the same way about him hahah  
> -Are the rumors legit or is Vivec just shitposting???? We just don't know  
> -Also, I had headcanons about Vivec being a little gossip fiend that had dirt on literally everybody, and uses it at the most opportune moments for the sake of manipulation, usually. It kinda suits the whole thing with him being associated with Mephala if you think about it... I think also that the Sermons of Vivec contain glorified, waxed poetic versions based on real, isolated instances of Nerevar occasionally doing dumb stuff when he was drunk, since he seems to be represented as being as p r e t t y dumb throughout the Sermons IMO.  
> -I don't really feel the ship with Nerevar and Vehk tbh. I DO think that given the sexually unrestrained nature of Chimer/Dunmer society, a lot of people had their chance with Nerevar, so to speak, and that nobody really "stuck" until he got together with Voryn.


	18. A Dance, to the Song of Ringing Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's been over a month since I've updated this and I have nothing to say in my own defense :<  
> **slight nsfw warning!!

_Plumes of pure white hair spill out into the air like thick whiffs of pure white clouds caught halfway between their fluffy, nebulous forms and remembering that they are truly water, fluttering behind Nerevar. There's something almost lyrical about the resonance of the blade being swung to and fro; the sound of its fiery crown flaring out as it strikes an invisible target; the hum of that enigmatic Dwemer alloy as it meets its opposition throughout the intricate and swordplay. Most of his strikes are eerily accurate and calculated; the staccato drumbeat of near-immaculate footwork against the floor. Though some have poetically dubbed him as a mesomorphic monolith of a mer, Nerevar's certainly light on his feet. Confined to a space in which he feels at home and authentic, the encumbrance of self-imposed limits are no more._

_The crescendo rises as the faux-combat becomes really more of a dance to him; the blade functioning more like an extra limb, moved as naturally and seamlessly as though it really was an extra arm or leg. Trueflame’s edge is angled like scamp's teeth biting into the shoulder of a nonexistent foe heralding the imagined fell clang of a beaten opponent’s weapon falling to the ground after they’d been bested._ _There's a strange sense that it was as if his invisible mock-enemies were hapless, interesting playthings happened upon by a large and somewhat cruel child. Several delays in his strikes make it seem as if he's keeping his imaginary opponents alive and functioning just long enough so that he might pick apart their movements in his mind and absorb their techniques, filing them away in his mind for later use._

 _Initially, Voryn’s concern had fueled his foray into the area; which was no more than a small, abandoned garden located somewhere within the Mournhold’s somber interior. He’d slipped into the room unnoticed, observing Nerevar from the tenuous safety of a pillar several feet away._ _Voryn is rendered breathless for a moment. He's never seen Nerevar nude before--or at least, so close to it, so he has to blink a few times to ensure that what he's seeing is, in fact, genuine. He knew his lord had many odd miscellaneous, quirks, but this was wholly unexpected._

_Proud, somewhat scarred in form, with a gleaming, almost metallic and slightly tanned complexion that was almost rendered pallid in comparison to Voryn's deeper, sun-washed tones. Voryn continues to observe him, spellbound, breathing a hushed prayer in the hopes that Nerevar's hard, strong frame might continue to bear all the weight of Resdayn while he continued to protect her people and all that they stood for._

_The overgrown fungal trees with thin, errant vines clinging to them helplessly, the gleam of verdant turf beneath him and the colorful, overgrown rhapsody of stoneflowers combined with the sense that nobody had been in that room for quite some time before they had, gave the place a surreal, almost magical aura, though Voryn would be hard-pressed to admit that it was anything particularly beautiful and impressive without witnessing Nerevar there; a joyous and leaping law unto himself._

_A raging, effusive torrent of love and admiration pours forth as he watches Nerevar leap through the air, slicing away at the air before pausing to argue with more of his invisible foes; performing more near-impossible acrobatic feats before resuming the elaborate sword-dancing--doing things, as legends profess, that only the Hortator can do. Voryn’s admiration takes the shape of what Nerevar would one day find to be taxingly obscure, verbose and poetic compliments, which he would lavish on the Hortator one after the other--a form of flirtation that would be no more than a small annoyance in this life for Nerevar, who far preferred the simplistic, raw nature of actions by which to express his love. Unbeknownst to the two, those enigmatic, haunting verses of desire would become even more aberrant and even twisted as they bordered the territory of curses in a lifetime yet to come._

_In these moments, Voryn can't repress or deny years of longing that had whittled away at him, just as Nerevar had whittled away at his aloof nature like the sea repeatedly washing over smooth and refined stone. Though he's certain that a day will never come where he might freely express the true nature of his feelings for his Hortator, love pieces itself together in his mind in the form of a complex novel whose contents only Voryn can understand._

_Voryn's like a piece of parchment fluttering in the wind of Nerevar's unsolicited glee and freedom; his unrestrained energy and unregulated authenticity. When Nerevar lets a triumphant little chuckle as he pretends to step on the head of a slain enemy, his amusement proves infectious, eliciting a peal of laughter from Voryn as well. Oh! If only he could kiss that mouth and divine for himself what it was that made his elusive laughter so contagious._

_For a moment Nerevar pauses. He thought he'd heard the High Councilor's laughter, which sends his glance veering off in all directions. Meanwhile, Voryn abruptly makes himself scarce, ducking behind a larger pillar._ _Perhaps he was going mad, inadvertently straying into Sheogorath's realm. For the sake of snipping the possibility of that Corner from his mind, Nerevar wanders into the nearby corridor adjacent to the erstwhile garden, subjecting it to a piercing, scrutinous stare for the sake of snipping the possibility of that Corner from his mind._

_When his vigil is met with the silence of the void beyond time combined with an empty corridor before him, his suspicions are, for the moment, dispelled. Satisfied, Nerevar's broad shoulders ripple with a nonchalant shrug before he moves to return, albeit cautiously, to his swordplay._

_An ornery quiet descends upon the area as Voryn looks around for Nerevar, who is nowhere to be seen. Then, f_ _rom out of that nowhere, the Hortator dives at him suddenly; airborne with the feline, phantomlike grace of a Senche-rat, colliding with Voryn instantly. His wrath came prematurely since he hadn't yet realized exactly who it was he'd discovered. Howbeit, his paranoia spoke for itself as he poises the tip of Trueflame over the assailant's neck._

_Having been unceremoniously knocked out of orbit, Voryn's face is completely obscured from view by a veil of thick, dark hair._

_“Fiend!! Assassin!!” Nerevar's booming voice reverberates off the walls of the abandoned corridor. “How came you to this place?!”_

_A maroon-colored eye peers up at him fearfully, followed by the next when the hair falls away from Voryn's face. Voryn, who is shocked beyond words yet again as he stares up at Nerevar with a mixture of confusion and concern both tinctured with admiration._

_“Voryn! You startled me.” Nerevar lowers the blade with a loud, decompressed exhale. It takes him the lesser half of a moment to blurt out an apology, which is countered thereafter by Voryn (who'd  gathered his bearings for a moment) when he gently inquires, “Should a ruling king really be the one to issue an apology..?” His tone is lilted in a way that tells Nerevar that the question at large is purely rhetorical. After all, he wasn’t the Lord High Councilor for nothing!_

_Nerevar’s eyes widen for a moment like a child’s in the midst of analyzing something fascinating. “I dunno,” he chortled, significantly lengthening the 'o' sound at the end of the word. A brief pause envelopes the two until Nerevar’s snowy brows shoot upward._

_‘He’s certainly in an odd humor tonight, ’ Voryn mused, knitting his brows. Perhaps with his intrusion, he should’ve expected as much._

_“D’you think his councilors should be the ones to tell him whether he has the right to apologize...?” Silver eyes silently bore into Voryn’s as the Hortator cants his head, awaiting the other’s response._

_Voryn sighs. It was a moot point--a moot point in which Nerevar already had the upper hand, and Voryn was secretly quite proud of him for it. The casual nature of their interaction soon wore off like a drug. Nerevar slides away from Voryn, realizing that their entire conversation for far had been conducted whilst he was effectively straddling the other with a sword in his hand._

_“This is a section of the palace people don’t frequently tread. So...what are you doing here?”_

_Instead of waiting for an actual answer, Nerevar pieces the situation together in his mind and begins to explain before Voryn is afforded the chance to do so himself. “Wait! Don’t tell me. You heard sounds of fighting. You were...concerned, so you wandered in here somehow after managing to unlock the door. You saw a bundle of clothes, and didn't know what the hell was going on, so you came to investigate." His posture straightens pridefully, and it's clear that he's devilishly pleased with himself for inferring what he believes to be Voryn's mindset at the time._

_The Grandmaster, who'd gone beet red in the face, managed a nod, coupled with a muted, “Yes, my lord.” It wasn't exactly a lie, after all, and by agreeing with him, Voryn made a tactical retreat, providing himself a bulwark with which to deflect any possibility of the Hortator's oncoming wrath._

_An awkward pall of silence blankets the two. Nerevar, who seemed blissfully unaware of the fact that he'd neglected to dress again, leaving the vast majority of his body on display, began to engage in the usual manner of friendly conversation typical of their relationship at the time. However, he noted that Voryn is curiously unresponsive and is acting very strangely. Moreover, Nerevar’s never seen his friend turn such a gorgeous shade of red--which, incidentally, accented the usual motif of his attire quite well, and though he's not gawking, his eyes seem absolutely anchored to a certain area on the Hortator's figure located well below his face. All that bars him from being completely naked are his pauldrons and a large, gauzy bolt of fabric he’d draped around himself._

_He pries Voryn right open like a bottle of brandy. “Why, Voryn! Are you blushing? ” An exaggerated gasp escapes the shorter Chimer. “Wow! After all these years...I was beginning to think you weren't capable of such a thing!” Nerevar leans in, snickering, like a leering kagouti going in for the kill. “Well old friend, let’s hear it! What is it that’s made you so red?”_

_Of course, Voryn is far too polite and mindful of his lord to point out that the other is, in fact, indecent. It took Nerevar another few minutes to figure this out, tracing the trajectory of Voryn's stare, with Nerevar's barely-concealed groin at its epicenter._

_It's Nerevar's turn to blush. A hot pink tinge creeps across his cheeks. “Oh,” he murmurs. There was a multitude of far more dignified-sounding things to say, but all he could manage was "oh." Wrapping the cloth around his hindquarters protectively (because Voryn, in his mind, does not need any more exposure), Nerevar does an odd, sort of walk-waltz out of Voryn's sight. A few moments later, he reappears, fully robed and somewhat sheepish._

_Both gazes awkwardly traverse the floor and it’s quite some time before their eyes finally meet--and when their eyes do meet, it’s brief because, for some reason, it seems that Voryn cannot bear to look him in the eye._

_“Gods, Voryn,” Nerevar murmurs. “Why didn’t you tell me...?”_

_“You would’ve realized soon it enough without my help,” comes Voryn’s hushed reply._

_Later that evening, Nerevar continues to ruminate over the matter incessantly, picking apart again and again his own piecemeal explanation for why Voryn had shown up there in his mind. Things just didn’t add up! None of it explained Voryn hadn't rushed out there, to begin with, or called out to him._

* * *

Neht holds his newly-purchased ebony scimitar in front of him, glancing out of the window. He was certain that the last time he'd looked out that window, it had been the middle of the afternoon, or perhaps late morning, given the copious supply of sunbeams streaming into the room. A frown seized his lips as he noted that it was pitch-black outside. How long had he stood there, reminiscing? How much time had gone by? An aggressive gurgling sound issued from his belly indicates that it's long past the pallid warrior's dinnertime. In a daze, he pads toward one of the cupboards haphazardly, seizing whatever pots and plates he sees first before slapping some ingredients together to prepare a meal. When he moves to stir his stew, Neht looks downward, noting that he's nude except for a gauzy, teal-colored scarf concealing his extremities and gilt pauldrons adorning his shoulders...

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- uhh, this chapter. it happened. yeah. Hopefully you guys enjoyed! ;u;  
> -art by yours truly!! 8D  
> -fluffymohawkvar is a depiction i heartily support.  
> -sometimes hotpotato is a strange creature and nobody can figure him out tbh. sometimes, he is oblivious.


	19. Chapter 19

Though he'd always possessed a profound fondness for baths, Neht found that drawing the water and then going through the trouble of heating it was something of a hassle (as he never used magic). Having become somewhat paranoid as of late, he’d overlooked the annoyance that came with this excess expenditure of effort, since it meant he could wash repeatedly, taking more baths than ever before. With the utmost zeal, Neht would scrub away at the tiniest spots on his complexion, as though he felt that each rigorous motion might erase (or, ideally, suppress) the hidden potential of any red spot.

Neht had managed to fight corprus back after waking from what had been no less than a showdown between himself and Voryn in another one of those red dreams. If people asked, how could he explain what had transpired? What was he supposed to say--that he sat the Sharmat down and told him that he didn't feel like being sick anymore? Implausible though it seemed, it was the truth (even if, as he suspected, nobody would believe it.) He didn't waste time trying to craft an explanation for what happened or spin an elaborate, gossamer-thin tale of untruths, for it was far easier to tell others that he didn't know how it all happened--and then they'd scratch their heads, soon to proclaim that it was some sort of miracle.

Furthermore, he feared that if he tried to explain that some might think that he was still within the red-grey grasp of soul-sickness--and Neht knew what happened to people who were, as the Temple supposed, _"soulsick."_ They locked them up--and Mephala knew that it didn't end _there._

The other possibility was people attempting to cajole him into seeing Divayth Fyr, who, Neht feared, (given that he’d heard atrocious things about House Telvanni wizards; about their brutal disregard for others for the sake of their knowledge-seeking and experimentation) would love nothing more than to subject him to numerous (and potentially barbaric) unpleasantries--all for the sake of pursuing a solution to the problem that happened to be Fyr’s idle pet-interest: the divine disease.

In the end, it all boiled down to a non-verbal shouting match; an arm-wrestling of wills that took place between Nerevar and Voryn. Neht told Dagoth Ur, very matter-of-factly, that he didn't want to be sick anymore--but Voryn swore that he wasn't making Nerevar sick; that Nerevar had become so lost couldn't tell the difference between illness and enlightenment, and that is why Dagoth Ur was there. To guide Nerevar on the right path; to tell him who he was...

Neht shook his head. No, he mustn't think about that--about _Voryn_. Whenever he thought about Voryn, he could feel Dagoth Ur’s shadow cast itself against the gold-lined precipice of his thoughts--and a long shadow it was, indeed. He felt it _now_ , causing him to sink into the warm water, hoping that it might counter an icy shudder running down his spine. There had been a time that Nerevar would never have believed Voryn being capable of such behavior--a time during which a ruling king had given his heart to another, and perhaps unknowingly, marked him as his equal...

_Perhaps that's why it all happened._

Neht shuddered, placing that on his ever-growing list of things _not_ to think about.

Dagoth Ur was a trespasser (albeit a very _polite_ one) that Neht couldn't see. He could _feel_ the other's presence in his thoughts (which he supposed the other entered gleefully given a lack of permission, armed with the supposition that he was a god and therefore didn’t _need_ his former lord’s permission to peruse his thoughts as one might leaf though interesting blacklisted tomes for sale at Jobasha’s Rare Books in Vivec) more profoundly ever since he'd been blighted; the presence now possessing a tendency to pronounce itself as if the Sharmat himself were somewhere in Neht's house, murmuring questions as he weeded through the Incarnate’s belongings.

With an unsteady breath, Neht leaned back in the tub, trying once more to think of nothing except for the warm water and how sweetly it smelled. Feeling that he was in need of further distraction, Neht reached for the tome lying on the limeware tray next to the perfumed sload-soap (not offensively perfumed; augmented with a light fragrance of bittergreen and spices whose names he could not recall. Neht couldn't stand smelling like, as grandfather Ranalith would say, a Hlaalu bride at her bachelorette celebration.)

Neht loved being in the bath (or in his room), alone, because it involved him not having to don a mask with which to impress or manipulate others. He didn’t have to be Neht, or Nerevar--or anyone at all, really. He could look down at the bath water or talk to the soap if he wished, and it wouldn’t tell him who he was, what he should do or what he needed. It was a nice thing, to lose himself in a book for several hours whilst soaking in the water--a luxury that Nerevar could seldom afford in his first life. There were so many books he'd wanted to read; so many things he wanted to read about. He could recall that at some point, he’d compiled a list of these things alongside that of would-be leisurely pursuits that he’d aimed to try, and found it loathsome that no matter how hard he tried, he could remember fewer than two of these things at a time.

Perhaps these memories had fragmented away during the inevitable weathering that took place whenever Azura thrust his soul against that of another Incarnate’s--but his time he told himself, it was different--and different meant that he got to make new memories for himself. Voryn and the failed incarnates would just have to hold on to the rest--the rest which belonged to a version of Nerevar that no longer existed after all that had transpired.

Half-immersed in warm soapy water or tangled between the blankets on a nest of pillows on a wretched, rainy evening, Neht could pretend, at least for a little while, that he wasn't being hounded by invisible obligations or by the morbid, cryptic proddings of an over-interested Sharmat.

Now, this particular book happened to be one of the Thirty-Six Lessons of Vivec--all favourites among Neht's Indoril relatives, since each and every one of them was at least knee-deep in Tribunal doctrine. Not that he _minded._ They had their ways, as he had his. After what had happened at Vissamu, this was the explanation to which Neht turned, as it was far more comforting than the truth--which was that he should’ve just stayed away from the place altogether. Perhaps his own curious persistence was why Nerevar couldn’t have nice things, no matter how many lives he attempted to lead.

Needless to say, Neht had purchased the book out of curiosity rather than out of religious fervor. As he was now, Nerevar couldn't remember _too_ much about Vivec, aside from isolated bits and pieces here and there as they manifested within his curious dream-memories--which, until fairly recently, he'd believed to be the sendings of the Sharmat. Upon reaffirming his desire to know more by firmly placing his hands on the cover, Neht opened the book, turning to the first page. As for the text’s obscurity, Neht had been well-warned of it.

It was not long before Nerevar began to roar with laughter. How had Vivec had managed such a strange reshaping of evenings? The bit about him attacking the moon--the whole thing--was exaggerated in a manner that only Warrior-Poet could manage. _'The moon does not recognize crowns or scepters,' they said, 'nor the representatives of kingdoms below, lion or serpent or mathematician. We are the graves of those that have migrated and become ancient countries. We seek no Queens or thrones. Your appearance is decidedly solar, which is to say a library of stolen ideas. We are neither tear nor sorrow. Our revolution succeeded in a manner that is was written. You are the Hortator and unwelcome here.'_

Leaning to press his back into the tub once again while suppressing a snort, Neht closed his eyes, chuckling. Behind his eyelids were scenes and snippets of a young, dark-haired mer--a tiny slip of a thing--trying to give his best impression of how the moon would _"react"_ to a thoroughly displeased Nerevar throwing his axe in its general direction.

“The “moon-craters” didn't say that," he snerked at the page. “ _You_ did, Vehk! I was so angry at the world because it was raining. Threw my axe at the sky.” That last bit escaped him somewhat sheepishly, as he vaguely recalled throwing something of a tantrum.

“I see you’ve remembered something,” drawled an all-too-familiar voice, rushing now to the forefront from the back of Neht’s thoughts.

Apparently, he’d managed to pique more than just his _own_ interest!

“Erm…” Neht slammed the book shut immediately, turning beet red after glancing about, paranoid. “You…you’re…”

Dagoth Ur's tone was a familiar mixture of dryness and amusement blended with genuine (but overly-pronounced) interest. “I'm what, my lord? Last week, you proclaimed my status as, and I quote, a _saucy villain._ What will it be this time...?”

“Voryn, you're an absolute _fiend_ ,” Nerevar sputtered. “If you _must_ know! What, fancy you'll catch a glimpse of me disrobed or something...? Is _that_ why you've decided to invade my thoughts at such an inopportune moment?!”

“I am _always_ here,” Dagoth Ur retorted, mildly and very matter-of-factly.

“Always here, hmm? Say, what kind of god are you, that you would leer at a poor, innocent mer while he’s indecent and trying to enjoy a bath?”

No sooner than he had spoken those words did Nerevar bury his face in his hands. Great! Now Voryn could see that he was still well-practiced at the art of putting his own foot in his mouth!

Naturally, _that_ particular choice of phrasing seemed to push Voryn over the edge. He lost his contrived composure immediately, causing Nerevar's ears (and his mind) to overflow with the sound of Voryn's booming laughter. “ _Innocent?!_ Forgive _me_ , my lord, I do not think _'innocent'_ is an appropriate adjective…”

“Nevertheless,” Nerevar continued candidly, “If you came here for a peep, then you're going to get more than you bargained for.” In this case, he didn’t have anything to hide and had absolutely no reservations whatsoever as he rose, stepping out of the bath. For once, he wasn’t sharing this body with another incarnate, and the mirror told him that it was as close to its first counterpart as any of his reincarnations were ever going to get.

Curiously enough, he didn’t mind half as much as he pretended to about the idea of being looked at.

The next few moments seem to extend infinitely with the company of silence. The thought did briefly cross Nerevar's mind that maybe, for whatever reason, Voryn had retreated to whatever mental fox-hole it was that he wormed back into to after being telepathically shooed away.

However, as he recalled, Voryn didn't exactly have a reputation of refusing an invitation. Nor was he likely to be dismissed with the same ease of old.

“....Are you trying to _woo_ me, my old friend? Charming--but I do believe we're quite past _that_ stage, now,” Voryn replied smoothly, with a dangerous quantity of laughter still lurking behind his tone.

“Not at all!”

“....I don’t follow. What sort of reaction, then, were you hoping to elicit?”

“I...I don’t know,” Nerevar confessed, sinking back into the now-lukewarm water. “I’m very tired, Voryn. I’m tired of fighting you and arguing with you like this.”

“Then don't fight,” Dagoth Ur said simply. “There is a battle between us only because you will it.” He added helpfully, “Do you know _why_ is it you are fighting...?”

Nerevar hung his head--not because he didn't know _why_ , but because he knew _exactly_ why he was fighting, though he couldn't bring himself to say it.

He knew the words to his response and the truth behind them, which would come in the form of blows they had yet to exchange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- i havent updated this for months and once again, I have nothing to say in my own defense :<  
> \- the "saucy villain" thing came from a version of jack and the beanstalk story. We can all give our collective thanks to my own cursed imagination and @Ascended_Sleepers for pointing me in the direction of using this in my own crappey nerevoryn context :D  
> \- there's a bunch of 36 lessons stuff peppering this chapter. lets play spot the reference lmao  
> \- I know that you guys are waiting patiently for the next chapter of Unsung...so I give you this to chew on whilst you wait! Chapter 3 is in the works, I promise! <3 In the meantime, please go check out the Egg of Time or The Fountain of Forgetfulness if you haven't already!! I know I've mentioned it 34567 times before but the authors of both these fics are amazing people and their writing is so good holy heck!!!


	20. A Sustained Diversion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hortator and the Sharmat: Where does the one begin, and the other end?

In the evenings, the floor next to Neht’s bed was always particularly cold and uninviting. Hunched against the side of the bed, the bulk of Neht’s figure seemed strong and capable yet immobile; his posture apparently sunken in despair (and perhaps exhaustion) with his knees drawn to his chest. He paid no heed to the clothing he’d laid out for himself on the bed, focusing instead upon the unpleasant sensation of the cold floor pressed against his bare skin, and how it drove an uncomfortable (but necessary) wedge between himself and the false promise of sleep for a few moments more.

Meanwhile, a dizzying array of miscellaneous memories flashed across his mind in fragmented succession, progressing from all directions to form the beginning of a highlight reel of his first life. He wondered whether his arrival on Vvardenfell had served as the catalyst for this sudden influx of memories and thought and did his best not to think little about the inexorable confrontation awaiting him the moment his eyelids fell below half-mast.

Thus far, Nerevar was blissfully unaware that the repetitive nature of his nightly encounters with ~~Voryn~~ Dagoth Ur had been part of a strategy which lay beyond his guess (although his suspicion had been piqued, for he recalled that Voryn did not like to repeat himself, and seldom devoted lengthy intervals of time to the purpose of arguing with him, as he did now.)

Despite the incessant head-butting, each derives a small grain of happiness at seeing each other again, having missed the other far more than he cares to admit. 

* * *

 

_During these dream-visits, Dagoth Ur always finds himself in at least three places at once. He is there, within the red dream he’s sewn into the forefront of Nerevar’s mind, interacting with his spirit and effectively toying with him for the sake of diversion; he is there within the heart-chamber, observing his faithful as they continue their laborious construction of Akulakhan, and he is elsewhere, waging a hidden war against Nerevar's stubborn refusal to admit who he is. He enjoys the sweetness of this subterfuge, savoring the moments in which many of his questions about Nerevar's past are finally answered. Nerevar has always been rather tight-lipped about his past--particularly when it comes to who his family was, where he came from, what his childhood was like. When he first fell in love with Nerevar, Voryn had known woefully little about him--and it was safe to say that Nerevar had known far more about Voryn and his past, and that is why Dagoth Ur finds it hard to conceal the excitement he feels as he delves into the heart of Nerevar's own mysteries._

_Each task behind a task was part of a series--a task which he finds curiously meditative rather than burdensome. In the Heart Chamber, Dagoth Ur levitates motionlessly as though asleep, suspended in midair with his back perfectly parallel to the ground far below. A train of dark, wavy tresses snakes outward in various directions, billowing slightly as they are caught in the mountain’s tumultuous breath. He requires no solid surface upon which to lay, for the mere supposition of godhood has long been enough to sustain his endeavors. It is in this position that he occupies himself exclusively with the matters at hand._

_He seeks and gathers each memory fragment studiously, for he knows them to be parts of the whole: a highly idiosyncratic, personal exegesis of identity that has long been subjugated by the tide of forgetfulness. As far as Dagoth Ur is concerned, the Hortator’s mind is now a filing cabinet in desperate need of sorting. Rather than grasping at straws (which is what he would have Nerevar believe that he was doing), the Sharmat is instead grasping Nerevar’s memories, and entering them._

_The memories of the false incarnates are something for which Dagoth Ur has no use. They are yet an unfortunate matter that needs to be dealt with. Their memory-imprints are cumbersome and inconsequential; their presence only serving to make a bigger mess of things. These irrelevant scraps were of little import, and worse still: they got in the way of things that were important. The Sharmat had since lost count of just how many he’d had to avoid._

_Nerevar's claims that he is no longer the same and that there is little to nothing left of him now were what had initially prompted Dagoth Ur's search, and he found that not unlike himself, all of Nerevar was still there. Forgotten, but not gone--simply sleeping. Each night, he crosses the threshold unbidden; entering each sleeping memory while gathering the shape of the truth dwelling within. Each these truths takes the form of the Hortator from some point during his numerous lives. Voryn prepares himself and steps forward as the obscured cacophony of ideas, memories, sounds, and shapes from Nerevar’s mind gradually etch themselves into an environment all around him: a sundry assortment of tawny, scaled hides draped about beast-bones and the dead remnants of ash-trees to form a structure--an ashlander’s yurt._

_Though the Sharmat still slept when Conoon Chodala had walked Tamriel, Dagoth Ur recognized Nerevar’s penchant for taciturn, prosaic speech patterns, combined with the telling presence of a double-headed axe at the mer’s side and the wild strip of hair running down the centre of his head; the boyish insouciance about him speaks of one who refuses to be refused as the blurred indications of a wise-woman shakes her head._

_“You are in the way,” Voryn declared, his tone as smooth as ancestor silk as he strode up to the youth. For the purpose of this invasion, the polite prudence Voryn typically exhibits has been tossed to the wind. He is the invader here, after all, and it is hardly a transgression that can surmount what he has already done. “Lord Nerevar has no need of you…” he paused. “.... We ….have no need of you,” he added with a snarl, before casting away the memory of the fallen incarnate with a mere flick of a wrist. “Begone.” With a subdued hum of satisfaction, Dagoth Ur watches the errant recollections bleed away until a small, frustrated scream--Nerevar’s--rings out in the distance._

_The cry is prompted by the vague feeling that another part of himself is somehow being chased away. The memory-ground beneath Dagoth Ur’s feet soon grows warped and misshapen with confusion. Nerevar can feel Voryn in there, somewhere, doing something --but he knows neither what it is happening nor where it is._

_Before he can reach a conclusion--something that the Sharmat always did his utmost prevent--Nerevar awakens with the words of Dagoth Ur ringing in his ears._

_“We are one, though you simply refuse to realize it.”_

_Nerevar, the son of Boethiah--or Nehti-Who-Listens-To-Noone-Unless-He-Wills-It shudders and abruptly buries his head beneath a particularly large pillow, wriggling against the bed like a kwama forager that believes it can somehow lodge itself deeper into its warrior-shell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -ESO references? You bet!  
> -Hopefully, some of your questions have begun to be answered by this chapter :D  
> -The idea for this was sparked by something in vivec's dialogue about comparing being a god to juggling.  
> -At this time, Neht has already overcome corprus. Exactly how he does this will be explained later in the new OMaS!  
> -the silly string title right at the end is linked to headcanon I had about Nerevar and Almalexia having 563468542578 silly misc nicknames for each other. Whenever Nerevar would roll over and bury his head under the pillows after being told to listen or wake up, he'd say smth about being the hortator and therefore not having to listen or answer to anybody. in response, almalexia would call him "Nehti-Who-Listens-To-Noone-Unless-He-Wills-It."


End file.
